The Lightsaber
by Tellemicus Sundance
Summary: A childhood love, combined with magical experimentation, and a determination to see his project brought to life. This was all it took to change the world...forever.
1. A New World Dawns

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#01: A New World Dawns<em>

_There was a powerful storm raging outside. The winds beat and swayed the stone walls and timber around him, attempting to rip the structure to pieces. Rain pelted everything under the power and guidance of the winds, drenching everything and everyone who were foolish or unlucky enough to get caught out in it. Lightning flashed through the clouds with considerable intensity and frequency, occasionally striking down at some high-rise or metallic structure. In many senses of the word, this storm was one to be remembered for the ages. But for all its power and ferocity, it was still unable to affect any type of change on the stone structure that stood upon the banks of the nearby coast._

_Looking down carefully at the object that was nestled in the palm of his hand, a white-haired old man gazed at it with an intense scrutiny. The metallic rod with some small rubber strips lining the lower half with some small leather straps crisscrossing around the rest of it in a style reminiscent of a Japanese katana, making for an excellent grip. There was a strip of transparent and strong glass that was visible between the leather straps midway up the hilt, exposing a faintly glowing gem inside that was firmly held in place between some small clamps and other machinery. And above the gem and its housing chamber was a couple adjustment knobs and an activation button, set just under a disc that had an open ending. The overall object was covered in tiny runes hidden under the leather and rubber grips that were etched deeply into the metal surfaces, to avoid the runes getting damaged and deformed. A necessary and smart feat since the old device was covered in small nicks, scrapes, and scratches, showing the many years of usage it had endured in the hands of its creator._

"_Grandpa," a young voice said from the open doorway of his room. "I'm scared."_

_The old man looked up, easily spotting the dark silhouette of his 5-year-old granddaughter and he smiled gently at the small red-haired child. Raising his arm, he beckoned the child inside. "Well, come on in, little one."_

_The little girl eagerly raced inside the man's bare, Spartan quarters and climbed up to sit on the side of his bed next to him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, the child buried her face into his robes when an especially loud crash of thunder echoed through the room. Her grandfather just smiled understandingly as he wrapped her up in his arm, holding her gently but firmly, letting her draw comfort from his presence._

_After a moment, the girl relaxed slightly and then noticed the device he held in his hand. "Grandpa, why do you have that out?"_

"_Ah, just remembering __**really**__ old times," the old man answered, a wistful look crossing his face as he returned his gaze to what he held. "So many things happened, so many of them stupid, dangerous, or just unexpected. A new world was dawning around us back then, but we didn't know it at the time. And all of it happened because of __**this**__. This little thing right here caused __**so**__ much death, __**so**__ much devastation, and completely reshaped the world around us."_

"_Can you tell me the story, grandpa?" the girl asked, wide begging eyes looking at him. She loved hearing about her grandfather's adventures and he always had so many of them that she was never bored. But she had never heard him tell this particular story before._

"_It's not really a happy story, my dear," he said, trying to change her mind quickly before she set herself firm._

"_Please?" her begging eyes wider and wetter now. "I really wanna hear it!"_

_Sighing at the lost cause, he finally nodded. "Very well. It all started when I finally finished building this thing for the first time. It was something that had never been done before. And while it was very famous and popular beforehand, no one believed it was truly __**possible**__. And at the time, I didn't realize just what I had done or how it would change me or the world. All I cared about was that I finally had a weapon that I thought could help me defeat the Dark Lord Voldemort…"_

* * *

><p><span>August 1995<span>

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless. The star, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.

For a split second, Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he'd been resisting as hard as he could. Then his reason caught up with his senses, he didn't have the power to turn off the stars. He turned his head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on his eyes like a weightless veil.

Dudley's terrified voice broke in Harry's ear. "W-What are you d-doing? St-Stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I —"

"I said shut up!" Harry stood stock-still, turning his sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense that he was shivering all over, goose bumps had erupted up his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He opened his eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing… It was impossible…They couldn't be here…Not in Little Whinging…He strained his ears. He would hear them before he saw them.

"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimper. "W-Were are you? What are you d-do—?"

"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed. "I'm trying to lis—" He fell silent as he heard what he'd been dreading. There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves. Something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. Harry felt a horrible jolt of dread as he stood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-Cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Dudley, shut—" _WHAM!_

A fist made contact with the side of Harry's head, lifting him off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of his eyes. For the second time in an hour, he felt as though his head had been cleaved in two. The next moment he had landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown out of his hand.

"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain. He scrambled to his hand and knees, feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling. "DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, Harry felt a creeping chill behind him that could only mean one thing. There was more than one.

"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. "Where's – wand – come on – Argh! _That's it!_"

Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans and the breast pocket of his shirt, Harry grabbed to metallic pieces that were held there. One was long and shaped vaguely like some kind of sword hilt. The other was a metal disc with a slight protruding shroud over one end and a screw assembly engraved upon the other. Placing the two pieces together and hurriedly screwing the smaller disc to one end of the hilt, locking in place with an audible clamp, he hefted up the device and thumbed the activation button.

Like a fire that promised warmth and security during a long, cold winter's night, a shaft of bright bluish-white light sprang to life from the end of the disc's emitter. The strong light of the shaft cut through the encompassing darkness, illuminating everything within a five meter radius. In a strange sense, the blade of light brought with it the promise of hope and determination.

Turning around, Harry's stomach turned over as he spotted a towering figure heading towards him. The hooded creature glided through the air with a supernatural grace that was terrifying as it was swift. It had no feet or face beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. Despite stumbling backwards, Harry raised his weapon threateningly, trying to ward the creature of darkness. But the entity ignored the glowing blade as it reached for him. Yelling out in a wordless cry, Harry swallowed his fear and swung the blade.

A piercing cry screeched from the creature's nonexistent mouth as the light flashed forward and sliced through its gray, slimy, scabbed flesh. The severed limb dissolved into ash as it fell, completely disintegrating before it'd even reached the ground. With a renewed sense of courage, Harry lunged forward again before the Dementor could recollect itself, stabbing his blade straight into its torso where a heart would've beat on any other living being.

The Dementor's following screech was so loud and deafening that it actually caused Harry's ears to ring, and probably would've easily shattered all glass within its radius. Thankfully the scream was quickly silenced as he yanked his weapon upwards, cutting through yet more of the Dementor as he pulled out the blade. Before he'd even managed to fully extract the weapon, the Dementor had already burst into a similar disintegrating ash and wispy shadows that quickly disappeared.

Turning around and holding his weapon up level with his head in an offensive stance, Harry faced where he knew Dudley had run off towards, ready to deal with the second one. But he quickly saw that the creature was already fleeing, having seen its brethren killed so easily. Lowering his weapon, Harry looked about the ground and finally spotted his dropped wand. Picking it up and pocketing it, he hurried over towards Dudley.

As he did, the moon, the stars, and the streetlamps burst back to life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. Harry stood quite still, all his senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality. After a moment, he became aware that his t-shirt was sticking to him, he was drenched in sweat. Once he was sure that the Dementor was not returning, he turned to face his cousin.

Dudley lay curled up on the ground, whimpering slightly and shaking, but also staring with wide eyes. As Harry bent down, he saw just what his cousin was staring at. In a strange way, Harry could see that Dudley's eyes were latched upon the blade. The look in his eyes was as though he were seeing something in it, something profound and awe-inspiring, as though it was the only thing that had kept him from giving into the power of the Dementor's all-happiness consuming aura. Pressing the button, he withdrew his weapon's blade with a sharp hiss, unscrewing the emitter, and pocketing the two pieces yet again.

"You okay, Dudley?" Harry asked, trying to sound gentle and not incite his cousin's wrath again.

"I—I—I…_saw_ it," Dudley whispered, shaking even harder as an unknown imaged flashed before his eyes again.

"Yeah, kinda hard to miss a glowing blade right in front of—"

"No…That _thing_," Dudley interrupted. "I c-couldn't see it…o-or anything…Then you made the light come back…and I…_saw_ it…It was _disgusting_."

Despite himself, Harry's eyebrows rose up in surprise. His cousin wasn't even the least bit concerned with what he saw Harry using to fight off the Dementors with. He was shaken because he had seen the _Dementor_ itself. And that was what really surprised Harry. As creatures that were in many ways the 'purest' representation of the darker side of magic, Dementors were invisible to all beings with no magic. Could it be that his new weapon could somehow _illuminate_ Dementors and make them visible to the common man? Definitely something to think on later.

Crouching down, he grabbed ahold of his cousin's arm and shoulder to help hoist him back to feet. "Come on, Big D, let's get you home."

* * *

><p>Harry could honestly say that he'd never had a more aggravating, stressful, or loud argument with his uncle and aunt before. The moment Harry and Dudley had returned to their home, Petunia and Vernon had seen something wrong with Dudley and promptly attacked Harry with a long list of accusations and more than few threats. But with some unexpected and very heartening backup from Dudley, Harry had managed to ride his relatives' fury and explain most of what had happened. Though Vernon came very close to kicking Harry out once he got the idea of Harry being a criminal to the Magical World for 'using a magic sword', Dudley again came to Harry's rescue. So, instead of being kicked out, he was sentenced to isolation in his room for the remainder of his stay at Privet Drive.<p>

It was close to midnight now and all was quiet in the house. Harry sat upon his bed, staring down at his weapon that he'd once again assembled and placed upon the bed in front of him. How had his weapon managed to harm and kill the Dementors? How had it somehow given Dudley the ability to see creatures that were supposedly invisible to the naked nonmagical human eye?

Harry wasn't egotistical enough to believe that his weapon was simply that powerful. He had more or less started designing, experimenting, and building it since he first set foot into Hogwarts four years ago. His experiments leapt forward years in advance when he started his Runes class, learning to enchant and place permanent enchantments onto objects that were anchored by the runes written upon them. Runes played a significant role in his creation of this weapon. With careful transfiguration of certain pieces, enchanted muggle electronics, a small potion of his own creation that could create plasma when a high-intensity light beam was passed through it, and a small ward erected around the emitter disc to contain the plasma blade, he knew that his weapon was something original.

But that still didn't explain to him just how it could do these other special effects without his knowing. He knew he didn't know enough about magic to have consciously built these abilities into the blade design. So how could they have happened? Granted, the weapon was half-magical. Perhaps the magic that created, maintained, and contained the blade is what allowed this to happen?

"Ugh, this doesn't make any sense," Harry muttered to himself.

A questioning hoot from his beloved familiar echoed across the room. Looking over at his beautiful snow-white owl, Hedwig, Harry gave her small, uncertain smile. "Sorry, girl, I just don't understand how my saber is apparently so powerful."

Hedwig just gave him a partial deadpan stare, as if to say '_Why do you care? It works, doesn't it?_'

Chuckling despite himself, Harry nodded to the night bird. "You're right, it probably doesn't matter how or why. Just that it does."

A hesitant knocking on his door broke Harry from his thoughts. Reaching forward, he quickly swept his weapon under his pillow as he stood to his feet. After a quick examination that it was properly hidden, he moved over and opened the door partially, exposing Dudley outside.

"What is it, Dudley?" Harry asked, torn between 14 years of bad relations with his cousin and a recent sense of gratefulness for his cousin's unexpected defense of him against his own parents. "It's late and I'm tired."

"I wanna talk," Dudley said.

"We already are," Harry pointed out.

Dudley just gave him a slight glare, before gesturing with his chin for Harry to open the door fully. With a slight sigh, Harry complied. Once the fat boy was inside and the door was closed, the two cousins faced one another, both suddenly uncomfortable and uncertain how to start the inevitable conversation.

Just as Harry was about to sigh and make a question, Dudley seemed to have firmed his resolve and asked, "Lightsaber?"

Looking up, Harry couldn't quite stop the slight quirk of his lips in a proud smile. "Heh, guess I've seen too much Star Wars growing up."

"So…it was _real?_" Dudley asked, eyes widening in realization that the beautiful light blade he'd seen had been what he first and still thought it was. "You actually made a _real_ lightsaber?! _How?!_"

"_Lots_ of hard work and studying," Harry said, hedging the actual details. "But let's just say that without _magic_, I never could've done it."

Despite himself, Dudley couldn't help but agree with his wizardly cousin. He knew as well as Harry that lightsabers were as close to impossible to make with science and today's present technology. The fact that a Wizard could make one didn't seem nearly as farfetched, disappointing as it may have been.

"C-Can I…Can I see it?" The hesitance but obvious youthful desire in the fat boy's request caught Harry off guard for a moment before a warm smile crossed his lips.

"Only if you keep it a secret," Harry said, still smiling. "I don't want to get swamped by millions of fanatics who all want one too."

A slight grin pulled at Dudley's face before he nodded in acceptance. Moving over to his bed, Harry pulled out the hidden weapon and handed it carefully to his cousin. Dudley took the weapon with the reverence one might expect when handling a holy artifact. He slid his hands over the hilt, examining as much of it in the faint moonlight as he could, twisting it every which way, staring at the small blue gem that was glowing behind the glass and leather.

Pressing the activation button gently, he flinched back slightly when the blue blade sprung to life from the end of the hilt. Staring up at it with a wide-eyed gaze, Dudley turned and moved the blade cautiously around, marveling at how the beam held its shape and consistency. It was, as he'd always imagined, a truly beautiful piece of art.

"No wonder you were able to kill those _things_," Dudley couldn't help uttering as he continued to stare into the blade. "Nothing could stand up against something like _this!_"

"Technically, I only killed _one_ of them," Harry couldn't help pointing out, his smile disappearing at the reminder. There was still a rogue Dementor out there, one likely under Voldemort's control, hence why it attacked them. He needed to send Hedwig with a letter to Dumbledore or the Ministry or _someone_ important about that as soon as possible.

"I wonder if you could stop this Dark Lord that's after you with this," Dudley said, finally looking away from the blade and to its creator.

"That's what I intend to find out," Harry said, shrugging slightly. Dudley could only nod at that, thumbing the button and retracting the blade with hiss.

"I wish I could have one," Dudley said, handing the lightsaber back to Harry. "Wizards and magic are _scary_ and make no sense. But a lightsaber? That is _so_ cool!"

Harry could only grin as he took his weapon back, unlatching the emitter with a casual twist. "To be honest, if I had had the choice, I'd have chosen to have been a Jedi myself. The Wizarding World may be a 'magical' place, but it's far more complex and dangerous than it needs to be." Then a small chuckle escaped Harry as he grinned up at his cousin. "Yeah, you'd have been my 'Han Solo,' and I your 'Luke Skywalker.' Wouldn't have that been something?"

"Yeah," Dudley answered, a grin crossing his face at the silly thought. Then his grin widened as he looked down at Harry. "Especially since Han got the _girl_ at the end!"

As Harry was snorting, a sudden familiar cold and darkness descended around them. Ice began forming upon the window glass and the faint moonlight vanished for the second that night. As Dudley started to recoil and gasp in terror at the return of the horrible sensations, Harry slapped his lightsaber back together and ignited the blade, basking his room and cousin in light once again. Spinning himself around, Harry searched quickly for the source of the freezing darkness.

"H-H-Harry?" Dudley nervously called out, also looking around and trying to find the monster he'd briefly seen earlier. "Wh-Wh-Where is it?"

"I don't know," Harry said, twisting and turning. "I can't see it. But…something's _wrong_. It's…not as _cold_ as it was earlier."

"It's close by but…" Dudley muttered for a moment, reviewing the facts about the hooded monster that Harry had shared with the Dursleys earlier. Then an ominous realization came to him. "MUM! DAD!"

Spinning around, he yanked the door to the hallway open. Almost immediately, they were hit by a blast of much colder air. But before Dudley could rush blindly out and head for his parents' room, Harry grabbed his shoulder and squeezed past, his lightsaber leading the way. At the end of the hall, he burst into his aunt and uncle's room, another and much colder gust of air washing over him. In the blue light his saber was giving off, Harry and Dudley beheld a terrible sight. A Dementor hovering over the sleeping form of Petunia, its face pressed against hers, sucking deeply.

With a loud roar of unexplainable fury, Harry immediately launched himself forward with a speed he never knew he possessed before. Swinging his lightsaber with all the speed and strength he could muster, he slashed the deadly blade clean through the surprised and recoiling Dementor's midriff as it rose and tried to dodge away. As with the previous one, it let out a horrendous screech as it was began rapidly disintegrating, the icy aura of darkness and depression evaporating with it.

"MUM! DAD!" Dudley cried out, rushing forward to his parents as Harry backed away, switching off his saber while he headed for the light switch. The sight that greeted him once the lights flashed on was heartbreaking, even despite who it had happened to. "WAKE UP! PLEASE, _WAKE UP! MUM! DA! __**PLEASE!**_"

Dudley was shaking his parents, first Vernon and then Petunia, trying to awaken their unresponsive bodies. As he moved forward, he easily saw the uncomprehending, glazed look in each of their eyes as they just laid there. They did make any movement or even seem aware of their son's presence and frantic persistence at trying to rouse them. Despair quickly rose up in Dudley as he saw the continued unresponsiveness of his parents, tears of fear and anger falling from his eyes as he continued trying to somehow wake them.

Turning to Harry, he cried out, "HELP, _PLEASE!_ I'll do anything! Just, please, _HELP THEM!_"

"I can't." Never had Harry ever felt so powerless or guilty as he did when he uttered those two words to his frantic cousin. "They're…gone. That Dementor sucked out their souls…like it was trying to do to us earlier."

"But _WHY?!_" Dudley yelled, reaching over and grabbing ahold of Harry's shirt, trying to shake the answers from him. "Why _them? Why_ go for _them?! They didn't __**do**__ anything!_"

"Because that's what a Dementor does," Harry said loudly, trying to unsuccessfully pry Dudley's hands off with his one free hand. "It doesn't need a _reason_. It eats peoples' souls because that what it _does_. It doesn't care about _who_ they are or _why_."

"B-B-But…Mum…Dad…" Dudley's grip loosened as he collapsed limply to his knees, sobbing freely. Unable to find the right words, Harry could only kneel down next to him and pat his shoulder. It was a feeble attempt at best, but he didn't know anything else to do.

* * *

><p>The next morning was terrible under the roof of Number Four Privet Drive. Dudley remained up in his parents' bedroom, still mourning over them and occasionally trying to wake them up. Harry had tried to get him to come out and get some breakfast, but the boy was immovable. He barely ate anything that was put in front of him. His eyes red with dried lines down his cheeks from constant crying. With nothing else to do, Harry simply went about the chores that the Dursleys had more or less programmed into him at an early age. It was a weak attempt at keeping his mind off the soulless beings who were upstairs.<p>

Finally, shortly after noon had passed, Dudley descended down the stairs and took a seat at the kitchen table. Harry looked over at his cousin from where he was washing his dishes from his little meal, before shutting off the water and drying his hands. He took a seat across the table from his cousin, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"This Dark Lord…" Dudley said, in a low voice as he kept his gaze focused down on the table between them. "Who is he? And what does he want?"

"His birth name was Tom Marvolo Riddle, but he took up the name Voldemort when he left Hogwarts fifty years ago," Harry said, equally lowly as his cousin. "He was born into a family that was descended from one of the magic school's founding Wizards: Salazar Slytherin. Slytherin had long ago decided that he didn't want to teach students who weren't of a 'pure magical lineage' and had grown to despise them. He saw anyone who wasn't born into a magical family as being abominations who were little better than trained animals. His ideas spread among the other Wizarding families, especially those of 'pure blood' who wanted more power over others and would anything to get it."

"And this 'Voldemort' leads these purebloods?" Dudley guessed, a small frown forming on his face. "To what? Enslave all those who weren't born into a 'pure' family?"

"More or less," Harry admitted. "I've met him several times. I don't think Voldemort cares so much about blood purity as he does simply wanting to dominate all others. He wants to rule over all others, be they Pureblood _or_ Mudblood, and he's just using the blood purity as an excuse." Taking a breath, Harry slowly continued, "My parents fought against him, long ago. That is how and why they died. He killed them because they were strong and could resist him. But when he tried to kill me for some reason, the Killing Curse backfired and he was destroyed, left little more than spirit without a body. No one knows how he managed to survive, or how I did for that matter. But, during this past June, one of his old servants captured me and used me in a ritual to revive him. It worked, and he's back."

"And now he's going to restart his war," Dudley said. "Try to make everyone his slaves again, or kill those who don't submit to him."

"More than likely, yes," Harry said.

"And that is why you built the lightsaber," Dudley continued. "Because it is something that he's probably never seen or heard of before. He wouldn't know how to fight against it."

"Yes and no," Harry admitted. "I built it before he was reborn, because I had wanted to see if it was even possible to do it. I never had any intention of actually _using_ it."

"No," Dudley said, finally looking up at Harry. "If that was true, you would've never had it with you last night. Those…_Dementors_…would've killed us, for sure. No, I don't believe it is a coincidence that you just happened to make it by _accident_. No, you were _meant_ to make it."

That statement really made Harry feel uncomfortable. He couldn't help lowering his gaze from his cousin's piercing stare. "…Maybe." After a moment of awkward silence, Harry lifted his gaze back to his cousin. "So, what will you do now?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Dudley asked, his face solemn and more serious than Harry had ever seen it before. "I'm gonna help you _kill_ that bastard." As Harry was opening his mouth to object, Dudley raised his hand to silence him. "They made this _personal_, Harry. You're _not_ going to change my mind."

Seeing the look of repressed anger hidden under deep layers of fresh grief, Harry just let out a long, low sigh. "Fine, then. But it'll take _time_, remember that. And if we're really going to do this, we need to get you up to speed on all things magical… Can you handle that?"

"I'll deal with it," Dudley grunted. "Once everything…here is settled, I'm going to join a military academy and get properly trained."

Nodding, Harry pushed himself out of the seat. "Well then, no time like the present to get started. Let me go get a few things, and we can head over to Diagon Alley." As he was heading for the hallway and the stairs, he suddenly stopped and turned back to his cousin. "What do you want to do with…them?"

A pained expression filled Dudley's face for a long moment. Then, he dropped his gaze to the floor as he sighed. "I'll call the ambulances tomorrow… Maybe they could find some way to help?"

Harry didn't have the heart to remind Dudley of the high unlikelihood of that happening. He just nodded. Standing up, Dudley nodded and followed his cousin to the front door, waiting for him to return and for them to get started on their journey.

Though neither of them would realize it until much later, that moment was the ending of their childhoods and their first steps into a much larger world.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) So, tell me, what did all of you think for this opening of my latest idea of a Star Wars x Harry Potter story? I will say this with definitive assurance: _Star Wars_ in this story is _NOT_ an entirely separate universe, nor is the Earth in an undiscovered section of space within the _Star Wars_-verse galaxy. _Star Wars_ is merely a piece of fiction that Harry was deeply inspired by. However, that is not to say that there will not be other continuing similarities and other _SW_-inspired stuff that'll take place within the realms of this story. In fact, a significant piece of the _SW_-franchise will be playing a large role in the course of this storyline and I'll do my best to explain the how's and why's behind it when that piece comes to light.

Now then, that aside, could any of you please tell me what you liked in this chapter? What you didn't? What caught you by surprise? Do you think my brief explanation of how his lightsaber was made and how it works is good enough or do you want a more detailed explanation? Do you like the concept of Dudley joining Harry, in a personal quest to avenge his parents?

And, yes, that reference with Luke and Han is a hint to the type of role Dudley will be playing. Granted, he has a _long_ way to go to reach that point. And, yes, Harry quite obviously took Runes instead of Divination because he saw it as a much more useful class than trying to learn foresight.

As far as pairings go, they're still largely up in the air. However, I will say here and now that I have no intention of making this a Harry/Hermione or Harry/Ginny or Harry/Daphne (too popular!). So, if anyone have got an suggestions (with some halfway plausible reasoning behind them), I'd love to hear your opinions.

For those of you who are wondering, I'm kinda basing Harry's lightsaber off of designs I've seen of Galen Marek's first lightsaber, combined with Rohm Kota's, as well as Kanan's little disassembly trick.


	2. The Alley and the House

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#02: The Alley and the House<em>

Noon

Dudley's reaction to first seeing the magical street of Diagon Alley was perhaps a very similar representation of his own, Harry later decided. His eyes lit up in wonder at the many colorful and casual displays of magic, the rustic and old world feel, the many different sights and sounds and smells. If it was physically possible, Harry had little doubt that the Dursley boy's head would've been spinning like a top as he tried to see and experience everything.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Harry said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he shot his cousin a sideways glance. "Try not to take it all in at once."

Dudley just continued to gawk, clearly enamored by the wonders of magic. "Come on, Big D," Harry said as he drew up near him. "Let's go get you some reading material."

"Books…?" Dudley couldn't help asking out in a deadpan. Harry couldn't help chuckling at his cousin's expense.

"Trust me," Harry said, guiding him towards Flourish and Blotts. "Even _you'll_ find a lot of these books interesting. Besides, how can we…do our thing, if you don't understand most of what's happening and why?"

Despite the look of constipated disgust on his face at the thought of _reading,_ Dudley nodded in understanding to his cousin's reasoning.

* * *

><p>And thus began their daily visits to Diagon Alley after the coppers and other government officials dealt with the comatose Dursleys and the ensuing legal paperwork. Harry rented a pair of rooms at The Leaky Cauldron for the both of them to stay in during the evenings. He would quiz Dudley on the various magical subjects that he forced himself to read, ranging from basic history to the different types of spells, curses, hexes, and jinxes, as well as the different effects they possessed. The three curses that Harry first introduced him to were of course the Unforgivables, which Dudley made a point of memorizing. They would also occasionally spend a brief time exploring and taking in the sights of the Alley together.<p>

When they inevitably stopped to take a peek inside Ollivander's wand shop, a particular subject arose that Harry hadn't considered until Dudley asked it. How could Dudley help Harry in defeating Voldemort if he couldn't use magic himself? This was a topic they discussed at great length later that evening in the relative safety of their rooms. Dudley assumed, with a fair amount of accuracy, that many Muggle methods of combat were ill-suited to face-off against a fully-trained Wizard or Witch. Granted, Harry was quite sure that a gun could still kill the Witch or Wizard in question like anything else if the shooter managed to get a clean shot.

"Can't you just make another lightsaber for me to use?" Dudley asked, the first question asked once they were back inside their apartment and alone.

"It's not that easy, Dudley," Harry said sternly. "It's not as if I can just collect a bunch of bits and pieces, and make a lightsaber out of them in a day or two. It takes a lot of time, energy, magic, and precision to put one together. And that's not even taking into account the focusing gem." He took out his lightsaber and held it up, showing the glowing gem that was inside it. "I had to create this gem by using a very special potion that needed a large amount of my own magic to form. In a sense, this gem is a small, physical representation of my own magic. So, any gems I make will be attuned to _me_. And while that may not seem important, I still don't entirely understand how such a thing will affect _you_ if you used something that wasn't perfectly attuned to you. For all we know, it could possibly even _kill_ you because you couldn't control it…or lost control of _yourself_."

Dudley frowned deeply at that, obviously not liking the answer. But he made no further comment on it. "What about some other kind of weapon? There must be _something_ that I could use. If you can't help me, then what can i do? Shoot them with Dad's shotgun?"

"Shotgun... Gun... No, Dudley, not a gun." Harry smiled as a random thought struck him.

"Harry?" dudley asked as his cousin fiddled with his lightsaber.

"To the best of my knowledge, any Muggle…er, _normal_ person like you, who has ever tried to use a magical item…It usually didn't turn out too well for them." Harry admitted. "But…maybe I could _make_ you something…special."

"Like what?"

A slight grin pulled at Harry's face. "How about a blaster rifle?"

"Blaster rifle…?" Then he caught the reference. "You mean like in Star Wars? Those blasters?"

"Exactly!" Harry said, a sense of excitement rising up in him as fresh ideas began to churn and twist about in his head. "It wouldn't be like with a lightsaber. But it could definitely be helpful. And I'd have to somehow create the blasterbolts…" Abruptly standing to his feet, Harry grinned as he said, "I going to go collect some basic materials and get started experimenting. Try not to get into any trouble."

Dudley just snorted as he sat down on the bed and grabbed one of Harry's old schoolbooks to read again. He knew he'd be rereading these books many times in the coming weeks and months, but it wouldn't hurt to get a head start on them now while he still had the free time to. Once he was accepted into the military academy, he wouldn't have _any_ free time.

* * *

><p>A week had passed since the cousins' first arrival in the Alley. While Dudley was largely distracted by the police investigations, lawyers, bankers, and a wide variety of other legal matters in the wake of his parents' sudden and unexpected 'comatose states', Harry continued his research and experiments into creating a blaster rifle. In some ways, his creation of the lightsaber gave him a basis on what to do and how it could work. But at the same time, he also had to start from scratch, using completely new materials and devising new runic arrays specifically for the to-be-blaster rifle. He wasn't even going to attempt to find a potion solution or something similar to be used as the medium for the ammunition until he reached Hogwarts and had some proper supplies and equipment he could use.<p>

However, that didn't stop him from constantly browsing the foul-smelling shop that sold potion ingredients. And it was during one of those numerous searches that he came across some quite unexpected discoveries. He had been browsing through a thick booklet of the many different types of potions that could be made using certain rare, powerful, or common ingredients when he found two particular potions that immediately drew his interest.

One was a weight-loss potion that could help a person lose large amounts of fat or flab without the need for months of painful exercises and diets. Given Dudley's newfound determination to join the military, this potion would most assuredly come in very handy. The second potion was much more personal in nature to Harry. It could correct his terrible eyes, giving him perfect vision without the need for his glasses anymore. He couldn't even begin to count how many times he'd gotten into trouble because of unexpected impacts knocking his glasses off his face. As such, Harry had temporarily put aside his new project and purchased the long list of ingredients for both potions and began brewing both that very night.

"What is it?" Dudley asked, a disgusted look crossing his face as he held the large silver goblet carefully in both hands. He couldn't help turning his face away from the absolutely _foul_ smelling concoction that the goblet held within.

"Think of it as the ultimate diet drink," Harry said, grinning proudly and drawing some humor from Dudley's reactions to the smell despite his best attempts not to. "You drink that, and you're suddenly six hundred kilograms lighter."

"What?!" Dudley asked, looking sharply over at him. Then his face grimaced again in disgust. "But why does it _smell_ like this?"

"The only ones that smell or taste good are _poisons_," Harry quoted wisely. "Trust me: the more disgusting it is, the better it is for you…usually."

"If I drink this, I'm gonna _barf_ all over the place!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I'll sharing your pain," Harry said, moving over to the desk in the corner of the room and grabbing a simple pewter goblet of his own. "Mine is to improve my eyesight."

Dudley raised his brow at that, clearly trying to picture his cousin without his distinctive round glasses. Then he looked back down at the potion he held and grimaced yet again. "Do I _have_ to?"

"It would probably help a great deal for getting you into the academy," Harry pointed out softly. "Not to be mean or anything, but you could definitely stand to lose a few hundred kilograms or so."

Dudley looked up sharply again, his eyes glaring slightly. After a moment, he grimaced one final time before raising the goblet and drinking the foul liquid as quickly as he could, trying to keep as little of it off of his tongue as he possibly could. Not that it did much good. He barely managed to swallow the last little bit before throwing the goblet violently aside and falling to his hands and knees, moaning piteously. His stomach immediately began throbbing and aching as the potion began to take effect, soon spreading throughout his entire body. Dudley collapsed onto his side, shaking and trembling violently, loud wails of agony coming from his mouth as he was helpless to do anything but endure it.

Harry was right down there with him as well. But his torment was much more focused. His whole head, brain, and especially his eyes all burned with the heat of an oven, threatening to burst into flame. His hands rising up to his face, Harry found his skin scorching hot to the touch and he couldn't help but cry out in pain right next to Dudley. After ten long, excruciating minutes of agony, both teenagers were finally silenced as their respective potions ran their course and began to wear off.

Weakly pushing himself up to his hands and knees, Dudley reached up and grabbed the bedside table. Hoisting himself up to his feet was a chore because his legs and knees were shaking violently, still somewhat recovering from whatever had happened to him. Grasping the tabletop with both hands, Dudley steadied himself, breathing deeply as he waited for his body to stop shaking. Finally, after several moments, he felt his strength returning to his body.

Looking up into the mirror that was on the wall in front of him, Dudley let out a loud yell of surprise when he saw the face that was staring back at him. "I'm thin!" Raising his hands up to his face, he began patting his face in disbelief and rising excitement. "My cheekbones! I can see my cheekbones!"

He stumbled back a few steps as the realization that the potion had indeed worked as Harry said it would began to set in. As he did, he noticed that his clothing was hanging extremely loosely upon his frame. The only reason that his pants hadn't fallen to the floor was because of the suspenders he wore underneath his shirt were holding them up. Grabbing his torso and feeling his stomach in rising exhilaration, he cried out, "I'm thin! My stomach's gone! I can feel my ribs! I'm thin! I'm thin!" As he was looking down at his greatly flattened stomach, he saw something that he hadn't seen in an admittedly long time. "Holy fucking _shit!_ I can see my _dick!_"

"Calm down, ya wanker," Harry called from where he was sitting with his back against the bedframe. "I bet all of Diagon Alley can hear you."

"But I'm thin!" Dudley cried out again, turning and beaming at his cousin with wide and truly honest delight. "I'm actually _thin!_"

Harry just snorted at his cousin's hysteria, his green eyes unencumbered by glasses for the first time in more than a decade.

* * *

><p><span>Two weeks later<span>

Despite his very limited scope and exposure to Wizarding homes, Harry could state with absolute certainty that the Black family home at Number 12 Grimmauld Place was the dreariest, filthiest, and most unwelcoming he'd likely ever come across in his entire life. He had only spent a week in the place and he already loathed it. Between the many hundreds of Dark artifacts, cursed items, the shrieking portrait of Sirius's mother, and the ghastly Kreacher trying to steal back all the items they tried to dispose of, there was truly nothing remotely good about the house itself. The only positive thing about it was the people he met inside it: members of Dumbledore's vigilante order against Voldemort like the Metamorphmagus Tonks, the Auror Shacklebolt, the real Moody; the Weasley family; and most importantly his best friends.

Needless to say, the Order of the Phoenix were in quite a state of panic and hysteria when he was finally brought in. They had heard the news that the Dursleys had been left comatose, their young son and sole heir joining a Hitwizard type of school, and Harry mysteriously disappearing for two weeks straight afterwards. Harry told them a slightly edited version of the truth. That he and Dudley had been attacked by Dementors but had made it back to the house safely, only to be attacked again later that night, which was when his relatives were Kissed and he somehow 'blasted them to pieces' in retaliation. The Order was quite nervous of the possibility that Dementors were already defecting to Voldemort's side and all of them had been confused as to how the soul-suckers managed to penetrate the protective wards that Dumbledore had likely put up around the house (which was news to Harry). In a strange twist of fate, Harry was actually secretly relieved that Mundungus Fletcher had abandoned his post of supervising Harry shortly before the attack. That meant that his creation and use of his lightsaber was still largely a secret.

It was late in the evening now that Harry was finally able to drag Hermione, Ron, and Sirius away to have a private discussion. Sirius had brought them up into his mother's old bedroom, which he had apparently decided to house the smelly, restless, and messy Buckbeak the Hippogriff. After placing silencing spells around the room to prevent eavesdropping, at Harry's request, Sirius finally turned to the dark-haired teenager and said, "Okay, lad, care to share what _really_ happened?"

"Where's your glasses, mate?" Ron asked. "Lose them? Broke them again?"

"Ron, let him speak!" Hermione ordered, giving him a slight nudge in the gut with her elbow before returning her attention to Harry.

"Ron, Hermione, remember that 'secret project' I'd been working on last year?" Harry asked with a knowing grin.

At the reminder, both of them nodded with slightly pouting expressions on their faces, Hermione more so than Ron. They had been trying to figure out what he was working on so intensely that he even occasionally forgot about the dangerous tournament he'd been forcefully entered into, but he always clammed up and refused to tell them. He privately admitted to himself that he didn't tell them about it because he didn't want to humiliate himself on the likely chance his invention wouldn't work. Plus he didn't want to run the risk of having Hermione's logic trying to dissuade and discourage him.

"Well, I finished it a little before the Final Task," he said, his grin dropping at the memory of Cedric's death resurfacing. Quickly shaking it from his thoughts, he continued, "I had it on me when the Dementors attacked my cousin Dudley and I. With it, I was able to _kill_ them."

"WHAT?!" all three of his companions demanded loudly, disbelief plainly obvious in their voices.

"You killed a _Dementor?!_" Sirius demanded, rushing forward and grabbing Harry by his shoulders, looking directly into his eyes as though searching for the answers. "_**HOW?!**_"

"Dementors are supposed to _impossible_ to kill!" Hermione loudly declared in a rapid tone of voice with absolute certainty. "Even the mightiest of Wizards and Witches have been unable to actually kill them! And the only spell that actually affects them is the Patronus Charm! How could you possibly—"

"Hermione! Breathe!" Harry ordered, speaking louder than her to be heard. "And, if you guys'll give me a moment, I'll tell you!"

After several long moments of allowing them to calm down, Harry reached down and unhooked the hilt that was hanging from his belt strap while digging out the emitter shroud from his pocket. His friends and godfather watched in confusion and mounting anticipation as he screwed the two pieces together and took a few steps backwards from them. Holding up his lightsaber hilt, he grinned knowingly as they all stared at it with varying degrees of confusion. "This is what I was making last year, and how I was able to kill the Dementors."

With a snap-hiss, he ignited his lightsaber, causing all three to flinch back in surprise. But while Ron and Sirius just studied the light blade with a type of curious perplexity, Hermione's eyes widened significantly as she gasped out in shock.

"Harry!" she uttered. "Is—Is that—? Is that a—?"

"Lightsaber?" he finished for her, grinning even wider. He nodded. "Yup."

"What's a lightsaber?" came the predictable question from Ron.

"A fictional weapon used by a monastic order of warriors in a science fiction-fantasy story that Muggles like to watch on television," was Hermione's automatic and rather distracted answer. Her eyes still locked upon the blade, as though trapped in some kind of trance-like state.

"What?" Ron and Sirius both asked.

"A type of magic sword that many Muggles wish were real," Harry clarified, adjusting his grip on the hilt and holding the weapon out for Hermione to take hold of. Seeing the unresponsive girl was refusing to take it, Ron reached forward to take it, his hand heading for the blade itself. Harry quickly pulled the saber back out of reach. At Ron's questioning and somewhat hurt expression, he quickly said, "The blade can cut _anything_ like magic. Take the hilt."

Ron nodded and, much more cautiously, reached forward and took hold of the weapon's hilt. Lifting the weapon up, he looked closer at the blade, with Sirius walking up next to him to examine it better himself. "It's so light," Ron observed. "Like the blade isn't even there."

"Which is part of the reason it's so _dangerous_," Hermione said, finally starting to come out of her stupor. "Unlike all other weapons, there's no counterweight on a lightsaber. With its ability to cut through anything, a person could easily cut their own limbs off if they're not paying attention."

"It can cut through _anything?_" Sirius repeated, looking between the lightsaber, Hermione, and Harry.

"Well, I still haven't quite finished _testing_ it," Harry admitted sheepishly. "But it definitely cut the Dementors apart!"

_"How_ did you manage to _make_ this?!" Hermione finally shrieked, turning her full attention onto Harry. "You _have_ to tell me! I want to _know!_ Did you document it?! _PLEASE TELL ME YOU DOCUMENTED THIS!_"

"Er…not really," Harry admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "All I really did was draw up a few sketches, make a few notes and lists of ideas. I didn't see the point of trying to 'document it' since I wasn't sure if it'd really work. I didn't want to record something that might embarrass me later if it went wrong."

"But, Harry, if you didn't write down what you did wrong, how could you be sure what you did next wasn't just some variation of what you did before?! Thomas Edison documented every one of his failures before he managed to succeed in making the light bulb! How could you be so lax?!" She asked in horror. "You are going to teach me how to make one!"

Harry didn't doubt her for a second.

"You said it can cut through anything?" Ron asked, a strange expression of hopeful yearning and frightened anxiety on his face. "Really?"

"It's partly made of plasma, so it's _possible_," Harry said. Seeing Ron and Sirius's confusion, he added, "Basically, really, _really_ hot 'solid fire'."

"Let's test that," Sirius said, taking out his wand and conjuring several large objects. The blocks were all different materials like wood, steel, granite, marble, and he ever transfigured a rotted floorboard into a pig.

Ron glanced between the different blocks and the saber, finally looking over at Harry questioningly. Harry shrugged and waved his hand in permission. Smiling slightly, Ron first approached the block of wood. Making sure no one was near him, he gave a tentative swing, apparently only really expecting it to hit against the edge of the wooden block and bounce off like a normal sword blade. Instead, the saber easily sliced through several inches of the wood before Ron caught himself and jumped back in surprise, revealing a darkened slash mark in the wood where the blade had been.

"No way!" Ron said, disbelief obvious in his voice. "I wasn't even really _trying_ and look at it!"

"Well, I'd say the wood is a positive test result," Hermione remarked in a dry tone, far from impressed or surprised. Moving forward, she carefully took the blade from Ron. "My turn."

Turning to the steel block as Sirius distractedly vanished the wood, she gave a much harder swing than Ron. Unlike with the wood, the steel beam was visibly stronger and much more able to resist the saber blade. Hermione's swing was slowed significantly several inches into the beam, reduced to little more than a slow pull. Rather than cut the beam all the way through, she retracted the lightsaber halfway, deactivating the saber and watching the molten steel slowly cool and harden again. "Interesting."

The granite block proved to be the toughest to cut through since it was both heavier and denser than the steel had been. But the saber did manage to make a small amount of damage to the stone after several long moments of exposure. By contrast, the marble was like the midway point between the wood and steel, slightly harder to cut through but not enough to slow or stop a dedicated power attack, as Sirius so happily demonstrated after several tries while wearing a shit-eating grin.

Finally reaching the pig, all of them just started at the oinking creature for a long moment. "I guess it goes without saying that it could kill the pig," Harry said quietly, no one objecting to his assumption as he deactivated the saber.

"Now I know for sure where you get your brains from," Sirius said, staring at Harry as though seeing him for the first time. "James was many things, but an inventor was not one of them. This…weapon could be worth thousands of galleons! Bloody hell, this is worth more than _gold_. It could introduce a whole new level of magical combat!"

"Exactly," Harry said. "A new level where old Tom _won't_ have the default advantage anymore!"

"I wonder if the lightsaber can also do what it does in the movies," Hermione muttered to herself.

"What's that?" Ron asked, curious to know what _else_ this strange new weapon could do.

"Harry, one last experiment," Hermione said, before looking over at Sirius. "Could you try to stun him?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, I get it!" Harry said, catching onto what Hermione was hinting towards. Quickly reigniting his saber, he held it protectively in front of his body, staring and waiting for Sirius to attack. "Come on, Sirius. Take a shot at me!"

Though confused, the man complied and fired a Stunner at his godson. He and Ron watched in shock as Harry just barely managed to maneuver his lightsaber and catch the spell on the blade, sending the bolt of magic ricocheting off to the side and impacting the far wall. As Harry and Hermione were looking over at the wall, Ron and Sirius were visibly gawking. The lightsaber could also deflect and redirect _spells?!_ Forget what he said earlier, this wasn't just a new level but a whole new _realm_ of unexplored magical combat!

"Hey, Sirius, what are those over there?" Harry asked, staring at something he could see on the wall, drawing the man's attention to where he was looking.

Sirius blinked in surprise at what he saw. There, lining the wall where his stunner had impacted, was a pair of shelves that ran the whole length of the wall and jam-packed with books, scrolls, and parchment. How had he never noticed that before? "Don't know. I could've sworn I cleared this room before I brought Buckbeak in here." Then, as Harry sheathed his blade, the bookshelves inexplicably disappeared. All of them just blinked in surprise when they saw that.

"No way!" Sirius muttered, somewhat shocked.

"Well, I guess that answers that question," Ron muttered under his breath, realizing that they'd just discovered yet _another_ ability of the lightsaber. The ability to reveal what was hidden under magic. Looking over at Harry, he said, "Mate, how long does it take to make one of those?" When Harry glanced at him, he just grinned embarrassedly, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears turned slightly red. "I think I want one too."

"We must experiment!" Sirius suddenly loudly declared, a strange excitement rising to surface in him. This strongly reminded him of his dearly beloved years back in Hogwarts and experimenting with potions and spells with the Marauders. He suddenly felt twenty years younger! Harry just chuckled as he reignited the lightsaber and went along with Sirius as they tried to figure out the limits of his lightsaber's 'revealing' power.

Several minutes later, he locked the blade on and set the lightsaber down on the block of marble that Sirius still hadn't yet vanished. With the proper illumination, all four of them moved over to clean and clear the bookshelves. As he was peering across the various titles of the books, one particular leather-bound book caught his eye for some reason. Cautiously taking ahold of it and pulling it out gently, in case there were any unpleasant curses waiting, he lowered the book down and quietly read the title.

'The Art of Sorcery' by Sir Henry Morgan. For some reason, he felt…compelled to take this book.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) A fast update, whaddya know?! But don't get use to this. I've just been unusually inspired by this story. But I've also run into some problems with my storyline and how certain characters will develop as the plot progresses. But, that those problems don't really start until a little further into the storyline than this.

Big thanks to **Fiori75** for helping me refine this chapter, and **M2J MandalorianJedi** for helping me fine tune the storyline.

But, the biggest thanks goes to all of you for your insightful and reviews and your choices of a pairing for Harry. I still haven't made my choice on _that_ matter, but I do now have a list to work with. Thanks again!

**PS: Harry was _EXAGGERATING _when he said Dudley weighed 600 kilograms!**


	3. Return to Hogwarts

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#03: Return to Hogwarts<em>

September 1, 1995

The train was gathering speed, the houses outside of the window flashed past and they swerved where they stood. The trio of friends had just managed to catch the train on time, but still needed to find a compartment, or at least Harry did. Ron and Hermione reluctantly shuffled off to the Prefect carriage, Hermione trying to give a feeble reassurance that they'd probably be allowed to come join him later on. But the reassurance didn't help much. He felt an odd sense of loss since he'd never traveled on the Hogwarts Express without Ron.

He and Ginny struggled off down the corridor, peering through the glass-paneled doors into the compartments they passed, which were already full. Harry could not help noticing that a lot of people stared back at him with great interest and that several of them nudged their neighbors, pointing him out. After he had met this behavior in five consecutive carriages he remembered that the Daily Prophet had been telling its readers all summer what a lying show-off he was. He wondered bleakly whether the people now staring and whispering believed in the stories.

In the very last carriage, they met Neville Longbottom. Neville's face was shining with the effort to pull his trunk along and maintaining a one-handed grip on his struggling toad, Trevor. "Hi, Harry…Hi, Ginny…Everywhere's full…I can't find a seat."

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, who had squeezed past Neville to peer into the compartment behind him. "There's room in this one, there's only Loony Lovegood in here—"

Neville mumbled something about not wanting to disturb anyone.

"Don't be silly," Ginny laughed. "She's all right." She slid the door open and pulled her trunk inside it. Harry and Neville followed soon after.

The girl beside the window looked up. She had straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows, and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. Harry knew at once why Neville had chosen to pass this compartment by. The girl gave off an aura of distinct dottiness. Perhaps it was the fact that she had stuck her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, that she'd chosen to wear a necklace of Butterbeer caps, or that she was reading a magazine upside-down. Her eyes ranged over Neville and came to rest on Harry. Then she simply nodded.

"Thanks," Ginny said, smiling.

Harry and Neville stowed the three trunks and Hedwig's cage in the luggage rack and sat down. The girl called Luna watched them over her upside-down magazine, which was called The Quibbler. She didn't seem to need to blink as much as a normal person. She stared at Harry for a long while, even after he'd taken the seat opposite her and now wished he hadn't.

"Have a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asked.

"Yes," Luna said dreamily, without taking her eyes off Harry. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. _You're_ Harry Potter."

"I know I am," Harry said, causing Neville to chuckle.

Turning her gaze to Neville, Luna finally blinked and then narrowed her eyes faintly, as though trying to see something. "I don't know who you are, but…a touch of destiny has happened today."

"What?" both boys asked, blinking and staring at her in confusion. But Luna merely retreated back behind her magazine, not sharing any further words. Looking at each other for a moment, both boys shrugged in confusion. Harry stood up and pulled out the old leather-bound book he'd been cradling under his arm the whole time, opening it to its front page and started reading.

'_The art of Sorcery is the ability to draw in the ambient magical energy that surrounds and is created by living beings. Drawing this latent energy inside the Sorcerer's body, using it to enhance their magical power and even their physical strengths to certain degrees_.' Harry read from the book he had taken from Grimmauld Place. '_When a Sorcerer is suitably trained, they can sense the different auras given off by others and can detect when a person or creature is nearby, even if they're actively trying to remain hidden. Luminous beings that shine with depths of their power cannot remain hidden to a Sorcerer, not matter the magic they use._'

"Empower them…? This sounds… a _lot_ like…the Force," Harry muttered to himself. '_Could…Could George Lucas be a Sorcerer too?_'

"What does, Harry?" Ginny asked from where she was seated next to Luna.

"This book here," Harry said, turning it slightly so he could share the text with her and Neville who had peered over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of it himself. "It talks about using the magical energies of the environment to increase a Wizard's power. Look here, 'Luminous beings that shine with power'. That sounds a lot like the Force in the Muggle television movies called 'Star Wars.' I wonder if the creator of the movies knew about this."

"I don't get it," Ginny said, looking very confused. "What's 'Star Wars' exactly?"

And thus began a very long discussion between about Star Wars, with Harry having to draw a lot comparisons from old world technologies to help Neville, Ginny, and even Luna to better grasp what he was trying to explain. Thus, the _Millennium Falcon_ became a sailboat, the Death Stars were castles that could shoot huge Avada Kedavra beams to destroy whole cities, stormtroopers and blaster rifles became Death Eaters, the Jedi were like Aurors, and the Force was like magic without needing a wand.

Needless to say, Harry was pretty sure that his listeners were probably very interested in seeing the actual movies, just so they could understand his descriptions better. Harry was more than eager to resume his reading by the end of it. But sadly he was interrupted again shortly into it when Ron and Hermione finally arrived. The two of them quickly settled in with the group and before long things were going smoothly. Harry decided to put the book aside to read later.

* * *

><p>The four long House tables in the Great Hall were filling up under the starless black ceiling, which was just like the sky they could glimpse through the high windows. Candles floated in midair all along the tables, illuminating the silvery ghosts who were dotted about the Hall and the faces of the students talking eagerly to one another, exchanging summer news, shouting greetings at friends from other Houses, eyeing one another's new haircuts and robes. Again, Harry noticed people putting their heads together to whisper as he passed. He gritted his teeth and tried to act as though he neither noticed nor cared.<p>

Luna had drifted away from them at the Ravenclaw table. The moment they reached Gryffindor's, Ginny was hailed by some fellow Fourth Years and left to sit with them. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville found seats together about halfway down the table between Nearly Headless Nick and Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. Parvati and Lavender gave Harry airy, overly friendly greetings that made him quite sure they had stopped talking about him a split second beforehand. And if his new eyes weren't fooling him, both of them gazed at him a touch longer than was necessary.

He had more important thing to worry about, however. Turning his gaze towards the staff table, he looked over the heads of the many students to try and catch a glimpse of a friend who was missing for some reason. But Hagrid wasn't seated at the staff table either. "He's not there."

Ron and Hermione scanned the staff table too, though there was no real need. Hagrid's size made him instantly obvious in any lineup. Sounding slightly anxious, Ron said, "He can't have left."

"Of course he hasn't," Harry said firmly.

"You don't think he's…hurt or anything, do you?" Hermione asked uneasily.

"No," Harry said at once.

"But where is he, then?"

There was a pause, then Harry said very quietly, so that Neville, Parvati, and Lavender couldn't hear, "Maybe he's not back yet. You know—from his mission—the thing he was doing over the summer for Dumbledore."

"Yeah…Yeah, that'll be it," Ron said, sounding reassured. But Hermione bit her lip, looking up and down the staff table as though hoping for some conclusive explanation of Hagrid's absence.

"Who's that?" she asked sharply, pointing toward the middle of the staff table.

Harry's eyes followed hers. They lit first upon Professor Dumbledore, sitting in his high-backed golden chair at the center of the long staff table, wearing deep-purple robes scattered with silvery stars and a matching hat. Dumbledore's head was inclined toward the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked, Harry thought, like somebody's maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and he saw a pallid, toad-like face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

"Don't know," Harry admitted. "Maybe she's the new Defense teacher?"

"Nice cardigan," Ron remarked with a smirk.

A few moments later, Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared behind the staff table and worked her way over to the place that was normally Hagrid's seat. That meant that the First Years must have crossed the lake and reached the castle. And sure enough, a few seconds later, the doors from the entrance hall opened and a long line of scared-looking eleven-year-olds entered, following Professor McGonagall.

After an unusually long song from the Sorting Hat, followed by the Sorting itself, and a very satisfying meal, Dumbledore got to his feet to address the school at large. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster. Harry was feeling pleasantly drowsy now and wanted nothing more than to rush over to his waiting bed. But he forced himself to pay attention as the headmaster began to speak.

"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices. First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students—and a few of our older students out to know by now too." Harry, Ron, and Hermione all exchanged smirks at that last remark. "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things. All of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door."

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons. We are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

There was a round of polite but fairly unenthusiastic applause. Dumbledore hadn't said for how long Grubbly-Plank would be teaching, which was very distressing for Harry, Ron, and Hermione as their worry for Hagrid grew slightly.

"Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the—" Dumbledore broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge.

As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped speaking, but then Professor Umbridge said, "_Hem, hem_," and it became clear that she had gotten to her feet and was intending to make a speech. Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Professor Sprout's eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair and Professor McGonagall's mouth was as thin as Harry had ever seen it. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously didn't know how things were done at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome," Professor Umbridge simpered. Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish. For some inexplicable reason, Harry felt a sudden and very powerful rush of intense dislike towards her that he couldn't explain to himself. All he knew was that he loathed everything about her, from her stupid voice to her fluffy pink cardigan. She gave another little throat-clearing cough ("Hem, hem") and continued. "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" Her smile revealed very pointed teeth. "And to see such happy little face looking back at me!"

There were no smiling faces looking at her. Mostly because all of the students couldn't believe that they were getting addressed by her as though they were five-year-olds. Professor Umbridge paid that little detail no mind as she continued with her speech.

"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young Witches and Wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. As the toad-like lady continued her speech, Harry's attentiveness ebbed. The quiet that always filled the Hall when Dumbledore was speaking was breaking up as students put their heads together, whispering and giggling. Professor Umbridge didn't seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. Harry had the impression that a full-scale riot could have broken out under her nose and she would have plowed on with her speech. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively. Hermione seemed to be thinking very hard on Umbridge's words, and judging by her expression, she didn't like what she was hearing.

After several long minutes, Dumbledore stood back up when Umbridge _finally_ ended her speech. Though the staff gave a short, quiet applause, very few students joined in since they hadn't even noticed the speech had ended. At least, not until Dumbledore spoke up and regained the students' attentions again. "Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating. Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held…"

"Yes, it certainly was illuminating," Hermione said in a low, almost dangerous voice.

"You're not telling me you enjoyed it?" Ron asked quietly, turning a glazed face upon Hermione. "That was about the dullest speech I've ever heard, and I grew up with Percy."

"I said 'illuminating', not enjoyable," Hermione pointed out. "It explained a lot."

"Did it?" Harry asked in surprise. "Sounded like a load of waffle to me."

"There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle," she said. "Stuff like 'progress for progress's sake must be discouraged' and 'pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited'."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked impatiently.

"I'll tell you what it means," Hermione said ominously. "It means the Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts."

Now Harry knew for a fact why he'd taken such a strong, seemingly irrational dislike to the new professor so quickly.

* * *

><p>History of Magic was by common consent the most boring subject ever devised by Wizardkind. The ghostly Professor Binns had a wheezy, droning voice that was almost guaranteed to cause severe drowsiness within ten minutes, five in warm weather. He never varied the form of their lessons, but lectured them without pausing while they took notes. Or, more accurately, gazed sleepily into space. Harry and Ron had only managed to scrape passes in the subject by copying Hermione's notes before exams. She alone seemed able to resist the soporific power of Binn's voice.<p>

Since he knew what to expect, Harry didn't even bother trying to pay attention. He just pulled out his leather book on Sorcery and began reading again, quickly becoming deeply immersed by what he found inside. As he had first thought Sorcery was extremely similar the Star Wars portrayal of the Force. But there was a fair number of differences that Harry spotted as well. Not necessarily in how the ambient magic affected the Sorcerer and could be used for, but in the tone of the text itself.

It was clearly written by an experienced Sorcerer (which Harry guessed the infamous pirate must've been), but there were certain phrases and the way in which Sir Morgan described using Sorcery. Little keywords that made Harry begin to realize that Sir Henry Morgan had also been a Dark Wizard. He spoke of how the Sorcerer had to absorb the magic, shape and break it, mold it to fit the Wizard's desire and intent, how the absorbed magic could potentially amplify a Sorcerer's emotions and thus increase his strength and connection to the ambient magic. But what really hit it home was the simple phrase that Morgan spoke of when he was explaining how to first touch and access the ambient magic through the use of an obscure potion.

'_Anger is a Wizard's greatest strength. And the stronger our anger, the greater we can summon and control the ambient magics._' Despite himself, Harry couldn't help agreeing with that opinion. It was true after all. Every time he'd ever cast a spell when he was especially angry or had some strong emotion powering him, he'd always been able to use his magic much more easily and cast surprisingly stronger spells.

All-too-soon the class ended and Harry was forced to stow his book away into his bag. It was only as he was gathering up his things that he realized that Hermione and Ron were both glancing at him with questioning gazes in their eyes. They knew he'd been distracted all throughout class, and they were reluctantly curious by what it was. Harry could help quietly chuckling at them in embarrassment. For so long he'd been keeping secrets from them (not necessarily earth-shattering, in his opinion) out of habit to avoid embarrassment or discouragement, but it seemed that they had started to catch onto him doing so. He'd have to fix that sooner or later, he realized.

* * *

><p>Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been a favorite of Harry's. And yet now, he could clearly see that his love of the subject was in serious danger of a grisly and untimely death. All at the hands of a Ministry pawn who'd been forcefully placed into the position. Partway into the class, after having been forced to study the theory of defense, the entirety of the class had more or less taken a much more active interest in the verbal sparring match that had been understandably instigate by Hermione.<p>

"I've got a query about your course aims," Hermione had started out, causing Professor Umbridge (and admittedly most of the class) to raise her eyebrows.

"And your name is…?"

"Hermione Granger," she supplied.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," Umbridge said in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," Hermione said bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about _using_ defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"_Using_ defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to _use_ a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron ejaculated loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.—?"

"Weasley," Ron said, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eye's lingered on Harry for a long moment before she addressed Hermione. "Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," Hermione said. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" Professor Umbridge asked in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but—"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way—"

"What use is that?" Harry asked loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it would be in a—"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" Professor Umbridge sang in that sweet voice that was really starting to grate on his nerves. Harry didn't even bother trying to raise his hand as the Professor promptly turned away from him anyway. Instead, she found herself suddenly bludgeoned by several other people who had raised their hands. "And your name is?"

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" Dean said. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk-free—"

"I repeat," Professor Umbridge said, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean. "Do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but—"

And thus Professor Umbridge exposed her true self to the class and school as a whole. She openly condemned her predecessors, even calling Lupin 'an extremely dangerous half-breed'. She bluntly refused to teach or allow them to practice any of the necessary spells needed to pass their OWLs, claiming that studying theory was enough to guarantee a perfect first attempt at any spell cast. All the hypocrisy and her all-but-stated desire to have them all fail perhaps the single most important exams of their lives quickly stoked Harry's already volatile temper into a raging fire. Until, finally, he just couldn't hold his silence anymore.

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" he demanded loudly, his fist in the air.

Professor Umbridge looked up. "This is a school, Mr. Potter, not the real world."

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh yeah?" he said, a dangerous tone in his voice.

"Who do you imagine want to attack children like yourselves?" inquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Hmm, let's think…" he said back in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe _Lord Voldemort?_"

Ron gasped, Lavender Brown uttered a little scream, Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, didn't flinch. She was staring Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain," Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned toward them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk. "You have been told that a certain Dark Wizard has returned from the dead—"

"He wasn't dead," Harry said angrily. "But, yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr.-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-House-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," Professor Umbridge said in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark Wizard is at large once again. _This is a lie_."

"It is _not_ a lie!" Harry snapped. "I saw him! I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" Professor Umbridge declared quite triumphantly, as though fulfilling a goal she'd set for herself. "Tomorrow evening, five o'clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark Wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming with fibs about reborn Dark Wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners.'"

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk again. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him. Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione hissed at him warningly, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead on his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking from his barely restrained anger.

There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what happened on the night that Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"It was murder," Harry corrected hotly. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly talked to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. "Voldemort killed him, and you know it."

If he'd had a cooler head on his shoulders at that time, Harry would've known that she had been baiting him all along. But just the same, his temper got the better of him and a wide kaleidoscope of thoughts, accusation, raging theories, and random ideas were racing through his mind as Professor Umbridge sent him with a note to Professor McGonagall. Thoughts like how Voldemort was a seemingly all-powerful Dark Wizard. The willful blindness of the Ministry to Voldemort's return was now being used to actively sabotage him, his friends, and his classmates when they needed defensive skills the most. That Voldemort was a genius and expert in the Dark Arts and had 50 years to refine and expand his powers in it. How he, Harry, had survived thus far on pure dumb luck. In a simple one-on-one death match between the two of them, Voldemort would swat him aside like a fly on the wall. That even with his new lightsaber throwing the odds a little better in his favor, he was still horribly outclassed in every manner.

When he reached McGonagall's office door, he had had a slight epiphany. He needed to learn something powerful, something so exotic that even Voldemort would've have learned and mastered it. And, even if it was written by a Dark Wizard, perhaps the book on Sorcery was his ticket to finally evening out the odds by giving him a wild card to throw at the Dark Lord?

* * *

><p><span>September 10, 1995<span>

If ever there was a time that Harry truly loved the weekend, it was now. The homework given by the professors was simply massive and only continued to pile higher. His weeklong detentions for that evil toad-faced excuse for a Defense Professor only compounded things. And practically having the whole school believing the rubbish that the Ministry was having the Daily Prophet print was just the icing on the cake. In all, his first week back to Hogwarts was a horrible experience with his temper very, _very_ close to the surface.

It was Sunday and Harry had finally managed to get away from everyone and have some personal time. As such, he had claimed a long deserted classroom in the unused dungeons under the North Tower as his private sanctuary. Thanks to his Invisibility Cloak and laying some Notice-Me-Not runes around his chosen room, not even the Slytherins knew of his presence down in their domain. No better place to hide than right under your enemy's nose after all.

Now he doing something that was both arguably dangerous and utterly foolhardy. He had set up his workshop again, complete with his extra potion supplies, several books on advanced Runes, Transfiguration, Charms, Wards, a large collection of junk metal and plastics he'd collected back in London, and a bulletin board that he'd be pinning his various designs and ideas on. He was finally able to continue with his promised project of helping Dudley get his vengeance on Voldemort.

At least, that was his intention with this workshop. What he was actually doing was brewing a certain potion that he'd found in the text of the Sorcery book. The potion itself was nothing too difficult, only needing a couple of strange ingredients but nothing he hadn't ever handled before. In fact, the potion itself probably wouldn't have even ranked as a Third Year exercise. But it was what it was capable of doing to a Wizard that made it so unique. If the text was correct, the potion could forcefully open a Wizard's many magical pressure points, a vital first step to learning to how to absorb ambient magic. The text didn't imply that the process was painful, only disorienting the first time it was used. And it had to be taken on a weekly basis for about a month before the magical pressure points of the Wizard's body would finally adjust to remaining open. Thankfully, the potion had a shelf-life of six months before it deteriorated and became worthless.

Completing the strange potion took less than ten minutes of careful brewing and before he knew it, Harry was already ladling the potion into several preservative vials. Taking the last ladle's worth of potion, he carefully filled the tin goblet with it. Setting aside his equipment and storing the potion vials in one of the desks that remained in the room, he walked over to where the goblet sat and picked it up, again rereading the section in the text about the potion's properties and how the 'first touch' was supposed to feel.

Sighing to himself, Harry looked down at the goblet for a moment with indecision. Did he really wanna do this? Why did he want to this? What was so important about this obscure branch of magic that he felt so compelled to learn it? These questions and more filled his mind for several long minutes, echoing and bouncing off one another. His indecision caused him to falter, stop and rethink everything.

"I want to be strong," Harry said to himself, trying to reassure himself. "If I'm not strong, I can't protect anyone. If I keep playing by Voldemort's rules, I'll never beat him. We're playing a game, and he's already got decades more experience at it than I do. I need an advantage, and my lightsaber won't be enough help to fight him…not by itself." Sighing again, he quickly brought the goblet to his lips and drank it before he could change his mind again.

Once the goblet was emptied, Harry set it back on the desk by the book. He took a few cautious steps backwards before settling himself on the ground, sitting cross-legged as he waited for the potion to work its magic. '_Concentrate on your breathing_,' the text said. '_Focus on drawing in and pushing out_.' As he was doing so, he could feel his body start to…tingle. It felt like little strands of fine silk were brushing over his skin, all across his body. '_Concentrate on breathing_.' And then little pinpricks of pain began occurring, like someone was pricking with him needles all over. Although not entirely painful, it was an unpleasant experience all the same as it began spreading. '_Breathe in_.' He took a breath and suddenly everything changed.

In a moment of time, Harry found himself utterly unable to move, like he had simply been frozen in time. He instinctively tried to fight against whatever it was that was forcing itself inside of him and trying to corrupt who and what he was. But the battle was over before it even started. The invading force was simply too overwhelming, too powerful, too forceful for him to possibly have any hope of repelling away from. In that moment of time, he stopped struggling, giving up and awaiting the inevitable to occur. In that moment of time, his magic completely dropped away.

In that moment in time, Harry felt the flickering candle's flame of hope he had kept throughout his journey of the past few months snuff itself out. Hope that he could somehow manage to survive, to win, that he could defeat Voldemort once and for all, that he could manage to truly bond with his long-estranged cousin after 14 years of strained and bad relations. In that moment of time in which time seemed to slow and stretch on into infinity, Harry felt a part of himself collapse in on itself. Like a star with all of its fire snuffed out, it faltered and caved in on itself.

Then, when he had almost let his hope slip away like a breeze through his fingers, the next moment of time slammed into him with the force of a star going nova. In that next infinitesimally short yet monumentally tangible moment in time, Harry felt something occur within himself that his mind could not truly grasp or explain yet was unquestionably real. It was like the crack of a shattering crystal, or the flash of light from a camera. It happened so fast he almost didn't catch the moment of change, yet he would never be able to forget what happened. In that moment of time, Harry could 'collapse' no further. Like a nuclear bomb at critical mass, it released the energy it could no longer contain.

And, suddenly, he was gone. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the estranged Wizarding hero, the boy with the largest target on his back for Voldemort and his followers, was suddenly no more. In his place, a new boy was born. Harry Potter had finally awakened to a new power that he had never known before, and yet somehow was so intimately familiar with.

* * *

><p><span>Norway<span>

The frigid forests of the far northern lands were usually thawed by this time of year. Summers were very short, but there was generally a bit of greenery to be seen in the absolutely breathtaking beauty of the lands. Yet, in this small, remote portion of the peninsula, winter held an eternal grip upon the lands. Snow was only lightly layered on the ground and trees, but it was still very much present. As the elderly man who was fell upon it face-first knew firsthand.

He had a shaven head and an ageless face, making it extremely difficult to determine whether he was in his early twenties or late sixties. But his dark eyes held a vast swath of experience in them as he rolled himself over and looked up at the one who'd caused him to collapse in the snow in the first place.

The figure was dressed in a black robe, with a metallic chest plate and broad pads on his shoulders. A ragged cloak hung under his armor and helped insulate the being from the cold. The being's face was hidden under a deep hood, shrouded in shadows. Held at his waist casually in one hand was a broad sword, sharpened to absolute perfection and its blade was glowing an ominous and unnatural blood-red aura, as was the blood gem that was locked in the sword's pommel stone.

"My answer is still no," the fallen man declared, utterly unconcerned about the armored figure who loomed threateningly over him. "Now, return to your master, _slave_."

"That is your final answer?" the armored figure demanded coldly, ignoring the man's jibe.

The fallen man merely nodded as he pulled himself up to his knees.

"Very well." The blazing red sword jabbed forward, burying itself into the fallen man's chest, straight through his heart. The man barely had time to look surprised at the suddenness of the unexpected attack before the blade was extracted and he toppled over onto his side, dead. With a casual flick of his wrist, the armored figure swept the corpse's blood from the blade and then smoothly sheathed the broad sword.

As the armored figure was turning away, it glimpsed a hazy figure suddenly appear before two meters ahead of him, ghostly blue-white and partially transparent. Recognizing the being ahead of it, the figure instantly dropped to his knee, head bowed. "It is done, my master."

"_Truloc refused?_" the ghostly figure inquired, looking over its servant's shoulder to see the body sprawled on the ground. Turning back to his servant, the figure said, "_There has been an Awakening. Have you felt it_?"

"Yes, my master."

"_Journey to Great Britain_," the master ordered. "_And deal with this one. Be cautious. This one is…unusually strong_."

"It shall be done, my master."

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) Heh, my muse is really working overtime for this story right now. Let's hope it keeps up for a while longer. I wonder how many of you can guess where I was inspired for this last scene of the chapter.


	4. Sorcery

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#04: Sorcery<em>

**September 10, 1995  
>Upper Dungeons<strong>

Euphoria.

That was the closest Harry could ever come to describing what he felt that first time. It was as if every pore and cell of his body had opened itself up to the magic of the universe. So much raw power was gushing through him that it felt like a tsunami, such was the magnitude that he was felt. It was exhilarating, empowering, and terrifying. The very air around him, the stone floor he sat upon, the castle around him, and many hundreds of creatures within that castle, he could 'see' them all without sight, hear them without his ears, smell and taste them. Each and every one of them shone brightly with an inner energy that stood out like lighthouses at sea or the streetlights of a city.

But he could also feel his 'senses' stretching beyond his workshop, beyond the castle, _far_ beyond. He could sense every gust of wind, every clap of thunder, the stamp of feet upon pavement, the rustle of clothing, he had been opened to the world. He _was_ the world, and the world was _him_. He could see the many shades of light and dark that covered the planet, those who had auras of brightest light and those of a much darker nature. Emotions and sensations of the many trillions of life forms that populated the planet, easily overwhelmed him. But, amidst the chaos and maelstrom of color, emotions, and feelings, he somehow managed to retain a small sense of his own identity, anchoring him and beckoning him back to his corporal body.

With a herculean effort of will, he pulled and separated himself from the world, returning back himself again. Opening his eyes and climbing to his feet, Harry lifted his hand clenched his fist, flexing his fingers. There was…strength coursing through him. Incredible strength. But not only that, energy, what felt like limitless energy. Moving to the door, he exited his secret workshop. After hurriedly locking and securing it, he turned and started walking down the hall.

Then his walk became a run.

Then his run became a sprint.

Rushing forward with a strength and speed he had never felt before, a wide and excited grin spread across Harry's face. He bounded down the stairs of the dungeon, three at a time, and kept on running. He navigated the maze of the dungeons with perfect ease, _knowing_ where he was going despite not being overly familiar with the layout. Any students that were in the hallway were smoothly dodged. Running up another stairwell, he emerged into the Potions classroom area, which had even more Slytherin students milling about. Seeing the lone red, running figure approaching their midst, the Slytherins quickly tried to block him, as though expecting him to have been trying to escape from them for some reason that demanded their immediate retaliation and revenge.

Harry's grin just widened. He felt so strong and fast that he felt he could just jump over the entire group. In fact, he would! Taking a small bounce as he neared them, Harry pumped a portion of the energy and strength he felt into his legs and just _leapt_. And what a leap it was! He easily sailed over the collective heads of the Slytherins, idly running his hand along the low ceiling of the dungeon hallway. Landing several paces behind the surprised and dumbfounded group, Harry couldn't resist letting out an ecstatic laugh of exhilaration as he resumed running. At the end of the short hallway, he found another set of stairs that he just jumped up as well, not touching a single step before he landed at the top.

Emerging into the Entrance Hall, he turned and resumed his running. Cutting through several hallways, he ran across the courtyard and the bridge beyond. Weaving his way with casual ease between students around the Transfiguration classrooms, he finally broke his way out of the castle and ran around the North Towers towards the Quidditch pitch. Up ahead was the outer curtain wall of the castle and Harry's grin widened even farther as he saw it. Finally, a challenge!

The wall must've been ten meters tall, but that didn't stop him from repeating what he'd tried earlier. Channeling his newfound power and strength into his legs again, he took a mighty leap as he neared the curtain wall, leaving behind a slightly indented crater from where he pushed off. The jump was so fast and high that Harry actually entertained the idea that he'd somehow taken flight without his Firebolt. But evidently he'd underestimated just how much power he'd used, he must've passed over the curtain wall by about ten meters.

Landing in a tumbling crouch on the opposite side, he again shot off like a rocket, heading straight for the Forbidden Forest. Pushing more power into his legs, Harry seemed to blur as his speed multiplied. He was sprinting so fast that a severe case of tunnel vision began to warp his eyesight. But he never lost sight of where he was going. He knew when to dodge a tree, skip over a jutting root, and jump over a fallen tree or branch.

He just…_knew_. After several minutes of this hyper-speed run, he came to a stop in a darkened clearing of the forest. His body throbbed and his legs burned from the extreme exertion that he'd just subjected them to, but he had never felt so _alive_ before! He felt…He felt like he could punch his bare fist through a ten-foot thick concrete wall, and not feel any pain!

Looking around the clearing, he saw that it was littered with a few boulders of various sizes and shapes, the ground was a dark black of decay, and the sky above was barely visible through the canopy. Moving over towards one of the closer boulders, Harry smiled as he extended his hands towards it. It was a physical representation of what he was doing with his newfound magic. Feeling the magics that were faintly imbued and reverberating from it, Harry grasped ahold of them and began trying to lift it. This act was not as simple as he first thought it would be, forcing him to focus more and more heavily upon what he was doing. His hands began to shake as the strain built up. But his efforts were not in vain as the boulder started to shake and tremble out of its resting spot, scattering dirt and foliage as it started to slowly rise half a meter out of the ground.

Cracking his eyes open, Harry grinned excitedly at his accomplishment. "Yes!"

But his concentration had faltered in that moment of elation and the boulder crashed back down to earth with a wet thumping noise. But he wasn't disappointed, look at what he'd done! If he could do it once, he could do it again!

* * *

><p><strong>Great Hall<strong>

It was several hours later that Harry finally left the Forbidden Forest. Though he had spent a great deal of the energy and adrenaline he'd felt from earlier, he still felt like he was a five-time Olympian star athlete. It wasn't that he had lost the power he'd gained after taking the potion, for he regained it with each simple breath he took. No, he had finally found a way of getting better accustomed to it and dealing with it. Thus the likelihood of him bouncing off the walls were…_slightly_ lower now.

He had returned to Hogwarts just as the lunch was being served and he eagerly dug into it. All around him, the whispers and stares had drastically increased in volume and consistency. He could _feel_ their curiosity, their disgust, their arrogant pride, and their simmering anger towards him. But he could no longer find it within himself to care. He was in too much of a good mood to let little things like that dampen it.

"There you are!" a familiar voice said as a mop of curly hair sat down across from him. "Where have been? Do you know what the Slytherins have been telling everyone? That you snuck into their dorms and tried to set a bunch of Dungbombs off in their beds!"

"Wow, that's almost creative," Harry said, not caring in the least. The Slytherins were simply being Slytherins, no way to stop that.

Hermione sent him a sharp look, one that he recognized. It basically demanded '_**Where**__ have you been? Tell me __**now**__!_' But more than that, he could sense her concern and disappointment towards him.

"I just went for a little run," he hedged, grinning slightly. "Don't worry, I'll tell you later. Hey, Ron."

Hermione blinked in surprise as Ron took a seat on the bench next to Harry. That, in and of itself, wasn't surprising. It was the fact that Harry hadn't even twitched in the boy's direction and still knew that he was there and preparing to sit down. How had he known Ron was there like that?

Ron didn't notice this as he happily started getting his own food. "I heard that you went and terrorized the Slytherins this morning. Good job, mate!" Harry just grinned distractedly into his food. "But is it true that you ran along the ceiling to get away from them when they caught you and tried to corner you?"

"Nope," Harry answered truthfully. "I jumped."

"What?" both his friends asked, staring at him with wide eyes and slightly full mouths of food.

"I jumped so high that I guess it looked like I was running on the ceiling," he explained with a grin. "I guess they saw it differently."

"I don't know, Harry," Neville said as he sat down next to Hermione. "I saw you as you were running through the Transfiguration halls. It sure looked like you were flying to me."

Harry just snorted but continued eating. "I'll explain it later."

"Does this have anything to do with what you were reading on the train?" Neville asked, quite interested and visibly earnest. "Can…Can I come too?"

Not seeing any reason to say no, Harry just shrugged. "Sure, no problem."

* * *

><p><strong>Upper Dungeons<br>Harry's workshop**

Harry had taken his three friends down to his new workshop. It had been tricky getting all of them under his Invisibility Cloak since they were all now much older and larger than they had been three years ago, but they'd managed. He was showing Hermione what his latest magical technology project was, or MagiTech as Ron had affectionately dubbed it. Needless to say that while she was definitely intrigued by the idea of somehow building a blaster rifle for Dudley, she didn't necessarily like that Harry and Dudley both actively planned to use it in a battle situation. Regardless, she was already peering through his preliminary designs and notes.

"Harry, what is all this?" Neville asked, looking quite bewildered at the setup of the place, particularly the sketch of his lightsaber that he'd left pinned up for motivation to himself. "I've never seen or heard of anything like this stuff before. And what's that?"

Chuckling, Harry pulled his lightsaber hilt out of his schoolbag, dug the emitter shroud out of his pocket, and clamped it into place. "This is some of the stuff I plan to use to kill Voldemort." And with that, he flicked his lightsaber on and handed it carefully to Neville to examine.

But Neville wasn't the only one enraptured by his saber. Through his connection to all things magical, Harry suddenly gained a profound new appreciation for the device he'd created. Once it'd become activated, the small fragment of himself that was nestled in the heart of the thing had filled the entire object with vibrant and pulsating magic. The magic danced and raced along the runes in its many pieces, protecting and enhancing them. The gem itself seemed to resonate with his soul, showing to the world the beauty and tranquility that he held within himself. The blade was merely an extension and representation of that beautiful soul and how he intended to use his influence on the rest of the world, to make it a better and safer place. Yes, this lightsaber was and would always be his single greatest creation ever.

"That reminds me, Harry," Hermione said, looking away from his notes to glance over at the saber blade that Neville was still gawking at. "You still haven't told me how to make my own lightsaber."

"Sorry, it's been a busy week for all of us," Harry pointed out. Then he turned and pointed towards his lightsaber sketch pinned just above where she was standing. "All the relevant notes should be on the back of that." Hermione took down the drawing, studying it for a few long moments before flipping it over and reading the tiny scrawled writing that lay there.

"Harry," Ron said, a sudden burst of fear and confusion radiating from him and his voice, catching everyone's attention. "Is this what I think it is?"

Taking his lightsaber back from Neville, Harry moved over to the corner Ron was standing in. He found Ron looking over his book on Sorcery. "Oh, I forgot about that."

Ron turned sharply to look at Harry, a thunderous look on his face matching his sudden burst of anger. "_Is this a book on Sorcery?!_" For a moment, all three of the others were taken aback by Ron's unexpected outburst. While Ron losing his temper was not an uncommon occurrence, losing it on his friends most certainly _was_.

"Yes," Harry answered honestly, not seeing what the problem was. "I found it at Gr—at _you-know-where_ when I was showing you guys my saber the first time. Remember that bookshelf we found? It caught my interest, so I took it to read. Why?"

"You should've _burned_ this book, Harry!" Ron declared loudly. "Nothing good comes from Sorcery!"

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Harry snapped, glaring slightly at Ron.

"The Darkest Arts, the worst of the worst of all Dark Wizards, have all been Sorcerers, Harry!" the redhead said loudly. "Once a Wizard starts learning Sorcery, they go Dark and crazy within the year!"

"How do you know all that?" Hermione asked, moving over and taking the book from Ron to read. "I've read about many different types of magic, but I've never heard of Sorcery before."

"Me neither," Neville admitted quietly, though none of the others paid him as much attention. It honestly wasn't as surprising that he didn't know about Sorcery. His overprotective grandmother and relatives likely shielded him from many of the darker and more dangerous parts of the world as he was growing up.

"That's because it's illegal to learn or teach," Ron answered, looking about as surprised as Harry that she hadn't heard of Sorcery before. "Right alongside the Statute of Secrecy, Sorcery is one of the highest and most illegal of all forms of magic to learn! I've even heard rumors that there's an ICW law enforcement branch whose job is to find and kill any new Sorcerers who appear before they can rise in power."

"How…?" Harry finally asked, struggling to keep his temper in check. To do this, he tried to focus on the calming influence that the ambient magic gave off when he was calm and passive. He was only somewhat successful in his attempt. "How do you know they go Dark?"

"Because that's what _always_ happens!" Ron said, glaring at Harry for questioning him on something so important. "Nobody knows how or why it happens! Some of the nicest and kindest people were completely corrupted and turned into butchers and murderers as soon as they started it."

"Do you think I'm going to go Dark just because I'm reading up on Sorcery?" Harry asked in a low tone. Something Ron had said sparked something in his mind, a memory so vague that he could only grasp the sheer profoundness of it but nothing more. The memory had something that spoke of anger and aggression. "That I'm going to become something worse than Voldemort that needs to be hunted and killed?"

There was a long moment of silence that stretched after that question as all eyes turned to a suddenly nervous Ron. But Ron did his best to not let the stares affect him and keep his gaze locked on Harry's. "You have been in a really bad mood ever since you came to…you-know-where this past summer," Ron said in an equally low tone. "You're my best mate and I don't like what's been happening to you lately."

In a burst of irrational anger, Harry moved forward and said, "If I'm being such a pain in the ass, at least have enough Gryffindor courage to tell me to my face when it's happening and not use something _else_ as a means to do it!"

"You're doing it right now!" Ron pointed out, which only increased Harry's anger all the more.

The temptation to throw Ron out of the room was _very_ powerful in that moment. To use his newfound Sorcery powers to telekinetically lift and throw the youngest Weasley boy across the room and through the door would've been _so_ satisfying! And the best part was that he knew he could do the act before the Weasley boy could even react to the unexpected attack. It was so tempting! But at the same time, another voice warred within himself against his irrational anger. Pointing out that Ron was one of his closest friends. That if he did do that to Ron, he might damage their friendship to irreparable levels. That Ron was only trying to look out for him in his own way, irritating as it may be at times.

For one long, eternal moment for Harry, indecision between the two equally powerful impulses held him teetering on an edge he never knew existed and barely understood the importance of.

With a loud growl of frustration, Harry turned, grabbing and donning his Invisibility Cloak as he left the room, ignoring his friends' call to return. He had some powerful frustrations to work off, and the Forbidden Forest seemed the best place to go to vent without anyone caring about the high amounts of damage he'd likely inflict.

* * *

><p><strong>Forbidden Forest<strong>

It was several hours later, the sky had already darkened greatly as evening set in sooner nowadays, and Harry finally came to rest, panting heavily with his arms hanging limply at his sides. All around him, the forest and ground were torn up, twisted, and broken. In some regards, saying that a bomb or a titanic battle had taken place here wouldn't have been too far of an exaggeration. Still, while his body was finally starting to feel exhaustion set in from the continuous and high demands he'd been putting it through, his mind was still very much active and his frustrations had hardly ebbed in the slightest. Raising his arms, he drew upon the magic once again.

A large log sailed through the air crashing upon a tree, breaking in several pieces. Two large stones were then lifted from the ground and flung at each other. The stones hit with such force that a loud explosion filled the air. Harry then spun around, thrusting his right hand forward. A powerful blast of telekinetic power shattered the bark on one of the ancient trees in the forest. Surprisingly, the tree managed to stay standing. Harry fell to his knees panting heavily. A new presence filled his senses and he lifted his head to see a being that he has not seen in a couple years.

"What do you want?" scowls Harry as he weakly rising to his feet. He internally winced at his own tone having let his frustrations at Ron's automatic assumptions out for Firenze the Centaur to see.

"I didn't expect us to meet so soon Harry Potter. I must have misread the stars."

"Yeah, well, it seems we are all misreading situations," grumbled Harry. "You still didn't answer my question."

Firenze's facial expression gained a hint of amusement. "I do not want anything. I merely came to see what the commotion is. I did not expect to find you."

Harry plopped down on a nearby log, one of the few that hadn't been pulverized by his ever-growing powers. "It's just me. Feel free to go now." He wasn't sure what was causing his rather caustic attitude at this point. Blaming his frustration towards Ron only went so far as he waved his hand dismissively.

"I do not want more of this beloved forest to be destroyed so I will attempt to help with your problems," states Firenze. The centaur trotted over to Harry. "What is the matter?"

A flat stone rose into the air, and with a negligent twirl of his wrist, Harry began spinning it over his hand, then with an equally uncaring flick of his wrist, it went careening blindly into the forest, imbedding itself into a nearby tree. Harry then ran a hand through his hair. "My friend, Ron, wants me to stop learning this new magic. It's really amazing and could definitely help me when I fight against Voldemort, but he keeps saying that it'll corrupt me." He scowled in anger. "He hasn't learned or seen what I have! He hasn't experienced it for himself and yet he's so quick to judge me without having all the facts!"

"Perhaps, but there is truth in both your points of view."

"He's hardly one to talk! He's just jealous that he isn't the famous one that worshipped and demonized by the Wizarding World!" Harry clenched his hand into a fist. His anger at the situation quickly rose as he recalled the incident that had started the troubles between him and his male best friend. Unnoticed by Harry, Firenze took a few cautionary steps back as small pebbles and dead leaves began to rise from the ground and encircle the would be Wizarding Boy Hero. "I say if he wants to be the hero so _badly_…"

More and more bitterness crept into his tone as he spoke- a barely noticeable faint corona of pure magic appearing.

"**_LET HIM!_**"

The magical build up inside of him reached its apex, desperately seeking its own release. As he shouted out that last bit, a surge of power exploded with him at the epicenter. Miraculously, Firenze maintained his vertical base, but only just barely.

However, the magic being expelled was more primal than a simple shock wave, there was a tinge of elemental magic mixed in as jagged bolts of uncontrolled arcs of lightning were flung from his now outstretched hands, cackling as they tore through the air, searing the landscape around him.

When they struck the closest trees in their path, the lightning superheated the resin and water within the trees, causing them to explode upon impact. Instinctively, Harry hurried shielded his face with his arms and pulled on his magic wrapping it around him and his long time friendly acquaintance, shielding them from the worst of the wooden shrapnel.

A moment of silence filled the forest, as Harry looked on in shock and awe at what had transpired. He didn't want to even glance at Firenze – he wasn't sure what would be worse on the centaur's face – fear, anger or disappointment.

"Perhaps there is some justification to his worry," Firenze said, breaking the silence.

"I… I didn't mean… I…"

"Tell me, Harry Potter, do you know what magic _truly_ is?" Firenze asked as Harry chanced a glance at him. Firenze was looking to the stars above.

Not trusting himself to speak, he simply shook his head. Firenze must have sensed that he did as the centaur did not once break his gaze from the stars to look at Harry. "Magic is the result of our desires combining with our beliefs – willpower mixed with intent. It is our desire to perform an action and our belief that we can accomplish our set task. But willpower and intent, while necessary, are not sufficient. For magic to work properly, one must be a master of their own whims and desires to achieve balance or else uncontrolled, unintentional outbursts or backlashes may occur."

"Accidental magic," Harry said, though whether to himself or to the centaur expanding his knowledge base even he was unsure.

"Yes." The centaur acknowledged. "However, our emotions play a huge role in magic as well. Rage, avarice, fear, will, hope, compassion, love… In any situation these emotions can either boost or hinder our power and control. Controlling your emotions, finding balance within yourself, allows you greater control over your own power, lest it controls you. Losing control, even for a short while, can force you to do things you normally wouldn't or shouldn't do and can lead to your destruction."

"For once you start down that dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny…" Harry whispered. Firenze looked to Harry with a raised eyebrow at his quote, though he did not ask about it. Meanwhile, through the mysterious connections that the human brain is capable of achieving, Harry was suddenly struck by the full remembrance of a memory that had teased his mind back in his workshop, that of a simple quote. He wasn't sure when he had read it, but he'd come across it in the _Empire Strikes Back_ novelization and now it made a great deal more sense to him. _'Anger, fear, aggression, the dark side are they. Easily they flow. Quick to join in a fight. Beware of them_.'

It was that line that also removed all doubt, leaving him with a simple truth that George Lucas was a sorcerer or at least knew of them. He knew them, and quite well it seemed, as he seemed to preach the dangers of allowing negative emotions to guide and control one's actions. Star Wars had a myriad of secret messages for all prospective Sorcerers.

"I understand…" Harry said after another brief moment of silence.

"Go back to your friend, Harry Potter," Firenze suggested. "Understand and be understood. The stars show troubling times ahead. Now is not the time to push those you would call family away."

Harry stared at Firenze for a moment. "Thank you, Firenze."

Firenze smiled at him. "If you need further aid, I am always available. I have the feeling you, one day, might be able to read the stars as well."

"I don't know about that," smiles Harry. "But anything is possible. Thanks again."

"It is my pleasure, Harry Potter."

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) And out comes another chapter! Tremendous thanks to **M2J MandalorianJedi** and **Fiori75** for helping me refine this disaster of a chapter!

We see just a bit of Harry's potential and power in Sorcery, some of its more basic abilities, as well as the inherent dangers of possessing so much raw power. Oh, and in case some of you are wondering, Harry's erratic emotional state is not entirely his own fault. Remember, in canon, he was getting constantly but unknowingly influenced by Voldemort. Now that he had been fully revived and regained his power, some of it is rubbing off on Harry. So, Harry has to struggle even harder to contain now only his own anger issues, but the echoes of Voldemort's that he receives through his scar.

For those who were wondering, it was the _Force Awakens_ teaser that came out recently that inspired the last scene of the previous chapter.


	5. A Lurking Menace

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#05: A Lurking Menace<em>

The trio had expected to have to comb Hermione's Daily Prophet carefully next morning to find the article Percy had mentioned in his letter back on Saturday. However, the departing delivery owl had barely cleared the top of the milk jug when Hermione let out a huge gasp and flattened the newspaper to reveal a large photograph of Dolores Umbridge, smiling widely and blinking slowly at them from beneath the headline:

MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM  
>DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER 'HIGH INQUISITOR'<p>

"High Inquisitor? What does _that_ mean?" Harry asked darkly, his half-eaten bit of toast slipping from his fingers. Hermione read them the article in a low tone, only pausing briefly when one of the boys made a comment. Needless to say, Harry was far from thrilled with the sudden tremendous power boost the horrible professor had been granted. He knew that this was just the beginning of a long and highly-unpleasant series of unfortunate events and that his fledging attempts at controlling his raging temper were going to be sorely tested in the coming days.

Though he thankfully didn't have too many classes that she attended to 'evaluate' the teachers of Hogwarts, Harry still had to endure her dark and slimy presence much too often. If ever he had doubted that she was Dark Witch with a heart of absolute blackness to match Voldemort's, those doubts were thoroughly disabused and silenced forever. Through his powerful new sensory skills, he could tell what she was feeling and her very aura was laden with all of the darkest emotions a human could feel. The most prominent of her emotions was, ironically enough, envy. Whenever someone, be they student or faculty, did, said, or had something, she was struck by a jolt of green eyed envy. Depending on the strength of that envy, she would lash out in varying levels of sadistic, cruel treatment or words.

Had Harry not come to the stark realization of just how dangerous it now was for him to lose control, he knew that Umbridge probably wouldn't have survived their second class together.

* * *

><p><strong>September 16, 1995<br>Gryffindor Common Room**

After yet another long week of painful detentions, losing points, struggling to keep up with the ridiculous amounts of homework, and barely managing to keep his darker impulses in check, Harry could honestly say that he was looking forward to the weekend with great anticipation.

However, his weekend started off not with a long and comfortable sleep-in to enjoy the simple fact that there were no classes today. No, he woke up at nearly the crack of dawn to a sudden and powerful pain in his body. It felt like his skin was on fire, his muscles throbbed and were in absolute agony, his blood felt like lava as it pumped through his body. But the absolute worst part of all was that he could literally feel himself weakening, his connection to the ambient magic fading as the power was no longer able to enter his body.

'_The potion's wearing off!_' he realized in agony. Struggling to get his protesting body to work, he pushed himself out of his bed and to his feet. He didn't even try to change out of his night clothes, merely grabbing his Invisibility Cloak and schoolbag, draping both of them over his body and feebly making his way down to his workshop. The journey was long, slow, and excruciatingly painful. He had to take no less than seven stops in order to give his body a chance to rest and regain his lost breath. If there was one positive thing about the whole situation, it was that it occurred in the morning, before many other students or professors were awake.

Finally reaching his workshop, he was only temporarily relieved to find it untouched. By this point, he was crawling upon the floor on his hands and knees, barely able to keep moving forward. But with his goal in sight now, he found he could push aside his pain more easily as he focused on reaching it. Making his way over to the desk he stored his potion samples in, Harry hurriedly uncorked one of them and drank it as though his life depended on it.

Unlike the last time where he could feel each of his pressure points opening like pinpricks in his body, he didn't anything for several long, agonizing moments. And then, with all the subtlety of a dam bursting apart, the ambient magic came flooding back into his system. The relief was like being welcomed into a warm room after traveling through a freezing blizzard for five hours. The heat was present, but the body was still too numb to fully appreciate it. Then, as the minutes slowly dragged on and the body's temperature rose back to its normal levels, the person became more and more aware of how _cold_ they'd been and just how rejuvenating the return to warmth truly was.

Letting out a long, relieved sigh as he felt the last dregs of pain fading away, Harry muttered, "Is that what it's like going through withdrawal? No wonder all those drug addicts never try to quit."

Pushing himself off the floor from where he'd been laying, Harry grabbed the empty vial and set it atop the desk. Turning around, he looked over at his bulletin board and felt a small smile tug at his lips. In the past week, he had made some great and very unexpectedly fast progress in building his first prototype blaster rifle. Admittedly, once she was able to peel herself away from not only her homework but her own experiments in building a lightsaber, Hermione had been her usual self and made some super-efficient deductions on his initial plans, refining the ideas that could work and flat-out rejecting ones that she felt wouldn't. She hacked off entire _weeks_ of failed experiments in just a few hours and Harry couldn't help slapping his forehead at his own stupidity every time he remembered it. If he'd had included her in his original lightsaber construction project, he probably would've had it finished in time for the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament!

Of course, it also helped that he was using a medium that he was intimately familiar with. The plasma potion he created and the focusing gem he developed for use in his lightsaber were proving to be even more versatile than he first thought. By using a much more generic crystal, rather than the deeply magically-imbued gems that the original recipe called for, the crystals could now theoretically be used by everyone, including Muggles. Though, Harry knew that the crystals wouldn't possess the same power output or lethality if they were used in a lightsaber. The crystals had mere 'slivers' of magic in them, whereas the gems were saturated with the magic of their creators. Regardless of that, they still fulfilled their function with remarkable aptitude, emitting a brief high-intensity light beam that shot into the potion mixture to create a small burst of magically-charged plasma. All he had to do now was fit it into the rifle assembly and make sure it worked as he hoped it was supposed to.

Glancing down at his pajamas that he was still dressed in, a slight grin crossed his face. "After I get dressed."

* * *

><p>"—so the heat containment runes in the crystal chamber, plasma potion, and emitter shroud are extremely important," Harry said in an even voice. He was mostly speaking robotically, quoting information he'd memorized through experimentation, while he focused most of his attention on applying such runes to what would become the rifle's firing chamber. "If not done right…"<p>

"It'll either explode or melt in your hand," Hermione answered, both enraptured by what she was learning and horrified at the possibility of what could happen if she placed the runes incorrectly.

Hermione was doing much the same as Harry, only paying partial attention to what he was saying as she kept her mind latched onto the intricate process that she was doing. That being stirring a delicate mixture in the very rare and expensive stone cauldron. The material inside was less of a liquid now and more of a gelatinous green mass. Holding her wand over the cauldron and using it as a type of ladle, she was stirring the gelatin with slow, steady, and carefully smooth strokes, pumping a gentle stream of her magic into the mixture as she did so. She had been doing this for the better part of an hour now, watching the potion with great interest as it transformed from its original white-opaque color into its present green color.

"Harry, how much longer until its ready?" she asked when Harry stopped his explanation, becoming distracted when something unexpected happened on his own project.

Glancing at his watch and comparing the time, he smiled. "About another minute or two, actually. The potion should be starting to resist you, that means it's starting to solidify. When it's completely hardened, Vanish the potion. Don't worry, the gem will remain."

"How did you ever come up with this potion?" she wondered aloud, just now noticing that he was correct. The potion was starting to resist her magic's stirring it and the surface was hardening.

"Honestly? I don't remember," Harry admitted. "I was trying to cope with my bad mood last year because of the Tournament and just started putting some random stuff together. When it turned rock hard, I thought it was a failure and tried to get rid of it, and lo and behold what I found afterwards."

"Bloody hell, mate," Ron said from where he was trying to help them by mixing up a batch of Harry's plasma potion. "When did you get so good at Potions?! What would Snape think if he knew?"

" '_50 points_ from Gryffindor for creating a _new_ _potion_ without my _expressed permission_, Mr. _Potter_,' " Harry said, trying (and failing) to imitate Snape's drawling voice. His comment drew quick, if somewhat reluctant, snorts of amusement from his friends as they both knew that Harry's mocking reply had a very firm foundation of possibility.

Taking a quick moment, Ron glanced over at his best friend. After their minor 'falling out' the previous weekend and letting Harry vent his obvious anger, the Gryffindor idol had come back and humbly apologized for losing his temper again. Though he tried to explain that he wasn't going to let himself fall to the Dark, Ron had purposely steered the conversation away from that awkward and unhappy topic. If Harry's temper had such a hair-trigger these days, then Ron just wanted to avoid the subjects that caused it entirely and try to go about their days as they normally did. Truth be told, Ron had been carefully watching Harry's reactions and newfound strange habits closely all week. What he saw was both relieving and concerning for the same reasons. Harry's temper still remained fairly close to the surface, but it almost always seemed closer to breaking loose whenever they had to endure Umbridge's presence or the Slytherins (particularly Malfoy). Other than those relatively few instances, Harry was doing a remarkable job of reining in his anger. But that is also what concerned Ron since he knew whenever he did that, the inevitable explosion would be all-the-more powerful as a result.

"Pay attention, Ron," Harry called over, not looking up from his work. "That potion's nearly finished and ready for storage."

Blinking in surprise, Ron quickly looked down at his potion and saw that Harry was correct. As he hurriedly collected the different vials for storing the plasma potion, he couldn't help asking, "How could you tell? You haven't even looked over here or been paying attention, mate!"

"It's my Sorcery," Harry said, making a good show of pretending not to notice Ron's flinch at the reminder. "It gives me a _ridiculously_ high awareness of everything around me, especially if it's magical. I can _sense_ that the potion is reaching its stable state and is ready."

"That's…convenient," Ron admitted reluctantly. If he could've had such a power when he was younger… No, it was better not to think like that. Shaking the wandering thoughts from his head, he quickly ladled the plasma potion.

Meanwhile, Hermione eagerly waved her wand and vanished the contents of her cauldron. The rock-like substance that had filled it disappeared in an instant. And there it was, glowing up at her from the very bottom of the cauldron. Her very own gem to be used as the focus in her lightsaber. Reaching inside the cauldron, Hermione gingerly touched the gem. A small electric jolt shot up her arm when her finger brushed its surface, but other than that, nothing untoward happened. Gently lifting it out, Hermione stared in deep awe at the beautiful gem she held between her fingers. It was barely the size of her pinkie's fingernail, and yet it felt so…powerful and deeply familiar. Her rational mind told her that of course it was familiar, since her own magical essence had gone into creating it. But just the same, the irrational part of her mind just felt that it had finally gained something it had been searching her entire life for.

"It's green," Ron commented, breaking Hermione from her slight trance. There was a very definite note of teasing in his voice as he said, "Please tell me that you're not going _Slytherin_ on us, Hermione."

"If she is," Harry said grinning, speaking before Hermione could properly rebuke Ron. "Then I'll have to get transferred to Ravenclaw."

"I think it's a _beautiful_ color," Hermione said, a note of finality in her voice, putting the gem safely into a robe pocket. This gem was representative of her very soul and she wouldn't have _anybody_ mocking it.

"I'm done," Harry declared, leaning back with a wide smile of pride on his face.

With a few waves of his wand, the various scattered pieces of shaped plastic, wood, and metal all jumped into the air, spinning and twirling as they assembled themselves from a random clutter into something that was very similar to a Berretta pistol. Moving over to Ron, Harry gently poured a small amount of the potion into one of the magazine clips and sealed it. Sliding the magazine into the pistol and locking it in place, he carefully aimed the pistol away from his friends and towards the far wall. Gently squeezing the trigger, Harry's grin widened as a bolt of blue-white energy shot out of the barrel with a soft popping noise. The energy bolt hit the wall, splattering very slightly on impact and leaving a darkened burn mark and hole on the stone with a small puff of smoke rising up.

"I'd say that's a successful first test," Harry said, looking over at his friends as he continued to smile. Hermione had a small smile of her own, but Ron looked a little hesitant before he returned the smile as well.

"Tell me again," Ron said. "Why we're making MagiTech weapons for your Muggle cousin who, if I'm not mistaken, wouldn't stand a chance in a fight against full-grown and trained Wizards?"

"MagiTech, really?" Hermione repeated, rolling her eyes. She _still_ couldn't believe Ron came up with such a silly name for the magical technology they were making, or that Harry actually _approved_ of the name!

"Because he's recently lost his parents to Dementors and he wants—_needs_—something to channel his anger against," Harry supplied. "If it's not against the one who sent them, then it's against the one who's responsible for putting the world in this state." Looking Ron carefully in the eye, he continued, "If _you_ were the only survivor of a Dementor attack, wouldn't _you_ want to arm yourself against those things so they can't hurt you _ever_ again also?"

Ron could only nod in agreement. "But still, isn't your cousin a complete prat?"

"People change," Harry said softly. He didn't know what Dudley was doing right now, but he knew that he was going to be a very different person the next time they met. Loss and pain had a tendency of changing people in various ways after all. '_I just hope 'Aunt Marge' doesn't get her teeth into him and make him back into what he was before all this started happening._'

"Actually," Hermione said, breaking off Harry's wandering thoughts. "Ron does have a point, Harry. If your cousin is serious about wanting to get involved in Wizarding business and fights, he's going to need a lot more than a few blaster rifles and pistols."

"What've you got in mind?" Harry asked as the boys looked over at her questioningly. They saw an all-too-familiar gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"If he gets caught in a Wizards' Duel, he'll need a lot of different kinds of firepower," Hermione explained, her slow smile starting to spread across her face. "A way of moving quickly around the battlefield, especially if the Wizards know how to Apparate. He'll need armor strong enough to endure or deflect attacks. And he'll probably want something to hide his identity as a Muggle so the Death Eaters can't hunt him down afterwards."

"I think I see where this is going," Harry said, a grin starting to spread across his own face now.

"Have I mentioned recently how much I hate being left out of the conversation?" Ron asked, annoyed. They had been speaking about and referencing numerous things that he didn't understand the context of a lot lately. Frankly, he was starting to get quite frustrated with it.

* * *

><p><strong>September 18, 1996<br>Gryffindor Common Room**

BY ORDER OF  
><span>THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS<span>

All student houses and dorms are henceforth subject to random inspections by the High Inquisitor and the Inquisitorial Squad. The inspections are to ensure that no contraband items are present within school grounds that will affect the students' studying (_see the attached list for details_). Should any specified item be found, they will be immediately confiscated by the High Inquisitor and the student in question will serve a week of detention. Any repeat offenses will result in immediate expulsion from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The above is in accordance with  
><span>Educational Decree Number Twenty-four<span>

Signed:

Dolores Jane Umbridge  
><span>HIGH INQUISITOR<span>

_This_ was the unpleasant surprise that Harry, Ron, and Hermione came back to after they'd finished their classes of the day. And, after just a quick survey of the Common Room, it became painfully obvious that the Gryffindor House had already been 'inspected'. There was a large number of students from all years talking in worried, hurt, and angry voices over a large of things that were evidently missing from their dorm rooms after they'd returned.

In fact, there was a not-so-surprising amount of commotion coming from the Seventh Year dorm. Fred and George were practically seeing red in their rage at Umbridge's invasion and confiscation of their _massive_ amount of 'contraband', Harry didn't even need his newfound sensory powers to know _that_.

"How can she get away with this?!" Hermione hissed in mounting anger.

"It's not bad enough she can make our classes terrible," Ron said, more than agreeing with Hermione's sentiment. "But she now can invade our rooms whenever she wants?!"

Looking over at Harry, Ron blinked in surprise to find him missing. Turning to look up the stairs to their dorm room, he just barely glimpsed the tail end of Harry's robes as he turned the corner. Running up after him, Ron arrived at the dorm entrance just in hear Harry cry out. "_IT'S GONE! SHE TOOK IT!_"

Even without his Sorcery, there was unbridled fury and power that echoed through his words as he shouted that. Ron could almost feel it as the power seemed to pass around and through him, causing him to stumble backwards slightly.

"What's missing?" he asked cautiously as Harry started practically throwing his stuff around without a care of the mess he was making in his frantic search.

"My Invisibility Cloak!" Harry cried out, looking extremely distressed as the silvery material continued to remain unfound. "She took my father's Invisibility Cloak!"

Now Ron fully understood Harry's rage and distress. The Invisibility Cloak was one of the extremely few possessions he had of his family. If it were the case for Ron, he'd probably have been handling it even worse.

"_THAT BLOODY __**WITCH**__ IS SO __**DEAD!**_" Scratch that, he was taking it just as badly as Ron would have. In a blur of motion, Harry shot past his redhead friend to no doubt confront the toad-face witch. After a moment of being torn between going after or stopping Harry, Ron noticed that there were some things of his own that were missing from his bedside table and instantly rushed forward to account the stolen possessions.

* * *

><p>Needless to say, Harry and many of the other students didn't get their stolen supplies and keepsakes returned to them. If any professor had ever tried to keep a tally of how many detentions were handed out in a certain time frame, much less a single day, Umbridge would've most definitely taken the record by a <em>massive<em> margin. The High Inquisitor passed out her detentions with little to no warning when she was confronted by a student asking or demanding their stuff returned to them. Despite the countless complaints to and mounting pressure from the Heads of House, the High Inquisitor remained completely resolute and unfazed by her sudden drop in what little popularity she'd garnered. Harry even had a strong suspicion that the ugly toad was actually _enjoying_ all the complaints and rage she was causing among the students and professors. But it wasn't only that that seriously tested his temper in the coming days.

With his heightened sensory skills, he could quite literally sense Professor Umbridge's slimy, black aura. And while normally it was confined to her classroom and wherever she was during school hours, he could occasionally sense her following him. The first time this had happened, he had very casually glanced back down the hall as if he was watching a passing student, but the hallway was empty behind him. But while his eyes may have been fooled, his senses certainly weren't and he knew that she was there.

Professor Umbridge was using his own Invisibility Cloak to follow him around school!

This realization caused a great deal of questions and accusations to spring up. When he shared this fact with Hermione and Ron, they both agreed that she was probably following him in hopes of finding some blackmail material on him so she could expel him or something of equally bad nature. Harry had to spend the next hour out in the Forbidden Forest venting his frustrations and anger after that revelation.

The only bright spots of the week were that Umbridge hadn't found his book of Sorcery, which he had kept hidden in his schoolbag, or his lightsaber that he now wore under his school robe at all times. His workshop in the dungeons, though slightly harder to reach without his Invisibility Cloak, became one of his few havens in the school. He quickly dedicated much of his attention to his newest project of creating new types of weaponry for Dudley to use. Of course, he usually had to take a much more roundabout route to reach his workshop on the days that he could sense Umbridge following him in an effort to lose her, which was actually quite easy since she apparently didn't know Hogwarts' layout as well as the students did.

For the new weapons, he decided to start simple and make a variety of grenades. He quickly was able to make three different types using different potions and charms; an electrical pulse discharge for shocking and paralyzing, a type of compressed adhesive for immobilizing, and the classic explosive using magical flames that could resist water and other forms of nonmagical fire suppression. He created these three types in less than a week of dedicated research and experiments, he was _that_ enthralled by his work. That's not to say that he was working alone on these projects either.

Hermione had gotten it into her head that she was the best qualified to create the more complex and delicate parts of the project. She had taken over the creation of the helmet and jetpack, while trying to incorporate a variety of 'computer systems' into them that would link the two together. So far, she wasn't making much progress on that front, even though the basic helmet shape and design were long finished. And Ron actually surprised himself by having more fun in his own project that he originally thought he would. He was working on building a set of gauntlets that were bristling with different weapons, including a miniature flamethrower and a zip-line with a grappling hook launcher on one gauntlet and was trying to build in a wrist blaster into the second one. Compared to Hermione's much more complex one, Ron was making great progress on this.

It was truly amazing just how quickly he could make new MagiTech when he had some helpers backing him up.

* * *

><p><strong>September 28, 1996<br>Gryffindor Common Room**

It was nearly midnight and the trio was lounging in front of the burning fire of the Common Room. Things had quieted down a fair deal since Umbridge's invasion on Monday, but many of the students were now openly investing in increasingly powerful locking charms and secret compartments to store their now 'contraband' items.

Though Harry wasn't entirely sure how they managed to reacquire so much of their 'non-school related' contraband like that multi-colored quill ink, Butterbeer, and other miscellaneous items. He suspected that Fred and George were on the rise as smugglers, all but ransacking the various shops of Hogsmeade so that they could make a profit and restart their research again.

"She's an awful woman," Hermione was saying. "_Awful_. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in…we've got to do something about her."

"I suggested poison," Ron said grimly.

"No…I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is and how we're going to learn any defense from her at all," Hermione clarified.

"Well, what can we do about that?" Ron yawned. "'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."

"Well," Hermione began tentatively. "You know, I was thinking today…" She shot a slightly nervous look at Harry and then plunged on. "I was thinking that—maybe the time's come when we should just—just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" Harry asked, suspiciously. He glanced up from gazing at his bleeding hand. He had been experimenting with a new way of using his Sorcery, trying to use it to heal his hand from Umbridge's Blood Quill detention torture. Either he wasn't very skilled with that type of magic, or the magic of the Blood Quill was interfering with his meager attempts.

"Well…learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," Hermione said.

"Come off it," Ron groaned. "You want us to do even more extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again it's only the third week? Granted, doing that stuff in the Workshop isn't helping matters, but still."

"This is much more important than homework!" Hermione declared passionately.

Harry and Ron both openly goggled at her. Speaking for both of them, Ron said, "I didn't think there was anything more important in the _universe_ than homework."

"Don't be silly, of course there is!"

And thus Hermione began her sales pitch, trying to entice Harry and Ron over to her way of thinking. The sad fact of the matter was that she was correct on many of the reasons, even Harry could agree with many of her points. She easily swayed Ron over to her side, but Harry bluntly refused. He didn't want to waste his time teaching to the students of the school how to defend themselves. It might have been selfish of him, but he was far more interested in not only exploring his growing Sorcery powers but also developing new MagiTech. He hadn't been this passionate about a project since…his Third Year's Quidditch training? Yeah, that sounded about right.

But he knew that that wouldn't stop Hermione. She was already set in her course of creating a new, student-run Defense class. Harry just wasn't sure if he would support and be a part of it or not.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) Merry Christmas! I hope this chapter finds you all well and merry for the holidays! If you'd be so kind, I'd like to ask that you give me a Christmas present in the form of a review for this chapter. That's all I ask. Happy Holidays and look forward to the next chapter. Things _REALLY_ start to change after that one!

PS: There's a new poll up on my homepage here that deals with this story. Could you guys please check it out? I'm very interested in your opinions on it since it will play a role in the future of this story. Thank you!


	6. The Ministry Strikes

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#06: The Ministry Strikes<em>

**October 7, 1995  
>Hog's Head, Hogsmeade<strong>

"So who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?" Harry asked, wrenching open the rusty top of his Butterbeer and taking a swig.

"Just a couple of people," Hermione repeated, checking her watch and then anxiously towards the door. "I told them to be here about now and I'm sure they all know where it is—oh, look, this might be them now—"

He felt the jumbled assortment of familiar presences gathering around the entrance for a few moments before they gathered their courage and entered. The door of the pub opened, letting in a thick band of dusty sunlight to split the room in two for a moment and then vanish, blocked by the oncoming crowd rushing inside. Among the crowd, Harry recognized quite a few faces. Neville, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, Padma, Cho (Harry tried _not_ to stare at her too closely or for too long), one of Cho's usually giggling girlfriends, Luna Lovegood, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Colin and Dennis Creevey, Ernie Macmillian, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, a Hufflepuff girl with plaited hair he didn't remember, three Ravenclaw boys he was sure were Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot. Then came Ginny, followed by a tall, blonde boy, and lastly there were Fred, George, and Lee Jordan (all of whom were carrying large paper bags crammed to bursting with Zonko's merchandise).

"A couple of people?" Harry whispered hoarsely to Hermione. "_A couple of people?_"

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," Hermione said happily, though he could sense her very well-hidden unease and restlessness due to his almost-angry stare. And thus, after a few minutes for the people to settle in and get some butterbeers from the quite unhappy bartender, the meeting began. Despite the fact that Hermione's calling card for the meeting had been about organizing a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts club, it soon became obvious to Harry that the majority of the people present or at least a good third of them had only come because they wanted to hear the story of Voldemort's rebirth and/or Cedric's death from his own mouth.

And while that did bother him to a degree, the part that really irritated him was that he could _feel_ Cho's interest in the conversation spike substantially whenever that particular issue came up. It made him feel suddenly very foolish and somewhat angry at her as it explained a great deal about her behavior towards him since this school year had started. The passing glances she'd shot at him, the occasional greetings, bumping into each other and the fumbling attempts at a conversation between them. She hadn't been wanting to actually speak with or get to know him, just wanting to speak about what had happened to her boyfriend several months ago. This realization had followed shortly after the revelation of just why the students had even attended the meeting, leaving him feeling bitter and angry.

"Look," Hermione was saying. "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about—"

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry interrupted, closing his eyes and repeating an increasingly familiar mantra in his head. '_Breathe in, breathe out. Take in the __**peace**__, expel the __**anger**__. I'm no __**destroyer**__, I'm __**just**__ Harry._' Opening his eyes after just a moment of collecting himself and forcefully letting his anger go, he looked Zacharias Smith (the most outspoken of the group) straight in the face. "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me. And I'm not wasting a precious afternoon trying to convince anyone."

With that said, Harry stood up and left the Hog's Head, ignoring Hermione and the others' calls for him to stop and return. Perhaps it was childish of him, but he found he didn't really care anymore. He'd been telling people ever since it happened that Voldemort had come back, but each time they ignored him, scorned him, or just looked at him like he was touched in the head. And frankly, he was sick and tired of trying to justify himself to those types of people. Beyond that, he found that working on and building his MagiTech weapons for Dudley was giving him a great outlet to focus on and vent some of his frustrations.

If Hermione wanted to found a Defense club, then by all means let her. But he wasn't going to waste his time in it if all he could expect were a bunch of kids trying to get him to tell them about what they felt basically amounted to little more than campfire ghost story. Such a club would no doubt steal away what little time he had for his MagiTech and Sorcery training, so that was just another reason to not attend.

Did this make him a bad person to put his own training and desires ahead of others and not want to participate with his friends? Maybe, maybe not. And frankly, just like with his earlier decision, he just didn't care anymore. To them, the Defense lessons were little more than a bad joke that would result in them failing their end of the year exams. To Harry, the Defense lessons were now a critical part of his life and if he wasn't allowed to practice them anymore, then he'd just dedicate more time and effort to his own secret projects as a means of combating Voldemort and the Minister's vile and spiteful Hogwarts attack dog.

As he was making his way back up to the castle, having lost any desire to remain in the magical village, he sensed a familiar presence rushing towards him. No, correction, make that falling towards him. Spinning around, Harry spotted a familiar beautiful white snow owl in the air. One of her wings seemed to be disjointed and she was having obvious trouble remaining in the air. That spoke little of the actual _pain_ he could sense emanating from her.

With no conscious thought to his actions, Harry reached out his arm towards her, using his Sorcery to gently take hold of her. Using all of his self-control, he gently pulled her out of the sky, keeping her injured wing locked in position so that she could jostle and further injure herself. However, that appeared to be unneeded as she seemed to recognize that he had taken hold of her and she didn't try to resist him in the least as he brought down to land gently upon his upraised arm.

"Are you okay, Hedwig?" he asked, very concerned for his beloved familiar. Hedwig just hooted dolefully as she ruffled her feathers. With great care, Harry pulled the letter from her leg. Eyes glued to her injured wing, Harry cautiously reached his hand up as if to touch her wing. When he sensed the spike of fear and pain from the owl as she hooted at him reproachfully, he withdrew his hand slightly. "If you'll let me, I'm gonna try and heal your wing, girl. Please, trust me."

Staring at him with her unblinking gaze, Hedwig finally turned her head away and shuffled her injured wing towards him. Taking a deep breath, Harry gently reached toward and laid his hand upon it. Focusing his magic upon her small form, Harry gently eased 'inside' of her. As his magic filled her up, he became starkly aware of everything about her. But he focused his attention towards her injury. In his mind's eye, Harry could see that torn muscles, bleeding skin and feathers, and the fractured wing bone, all of it highlighted in a blazing red lines of fire that was laced throughout the area of her injury. Pushing his magic into that area, he focused it through her fresh and cells, rejuvenating and realigning them. After just a few moments of this, he felt her cells begin to respond to his presence, accelerating her natural healing process many times past its limit. Her muscles mended themselves back together, her fractured bone healed, and the slight dislocated shoulder popped back into place.

In the span of less than two minutes, Hedwig's injury was healed and the owl let out a loud ecstatic hoot of joy, flapping her wings about as she bounced excitedly on his arm. Harry just smiled at her happily, enjoying seeing her so happy. He petted her gently as she rubbed herself up against his cheek. Chuckling quietly, he held his arm out, "Go on, girl. Go rest up, you deserve it." Though somewhat reluctant, Hedwig did as asked and took flight for the Owlery. Digging out the note, Harry found it was written by Sirius, simply saying '_Today, same time, same place_'.

* * *

><p><strong>Midnight<br>Gryffindor Common Room**

The meeting with Sirius that night started off a bit rocky, not the least bit surprising. First, Harry had to deal with angry Hermione. It seemed that even though he walked out on the meeting, Hermione and Ron had still managed to talk the gathered group in creating the club. While they wouldn't have the 'experienced instructor' that Hermione had desired, she was still by far the most knowledgeable witch of their year and likely the whole school (excluding the professors of course). Hermione was especially angry to learn that he was going to be devoting more of his time to creating his MagiTech.

Thankfully, before the fight could start becoming something else that might've tested, dented, or even broken their friendship, Sirius had arrived. He passed on a warning to Ron from his mother to no get involved with their Defense club, on the grounds that he could potentially ruin his future. And then, Sirius quite happily did his usual 180 and loudly declared that he wholly supported the idea and that Harry should be the instructor (much to Hermione's _immense_ satisfaction).

"I'm not interested in teaching a bunch of kids what they should already know," Harry said, ignoring the trio's looks that essentially said '_but you're a kid too_'. "I want to keep making my MagiTech."

"Magi-what?" Sirius asked, cocking his head in confusion.

"Magical technology," Harry explained, smiling slightly when he saw and sensed the sudden spike of interest from his godfather. "Kind of like what Ron's dad did with his flying car, but much more 'combat oriented' as it were."

"Now that sounds like fun!" Sirius chirped, grinning widely. "You should tell me more about it when we ha—" He broke off. His face suddenly tense and alarmed as he looked off to the side, evidently seeing something that none of the others could. But Harry could also sense something wrong. It was almost like a hole had been torn into a bed sheet that he had been using to hide himself, or a break in the wall that allowed others to see and listen to what was going on.

"Sirius?" Harry asked anxiously.

But he had vanished. The trio only had a few seconds to wonder why before they saw the cause of his sudden departure. A hand had appeared amongst the flames, groping as though to catch hold of something. A stubby, short-fingered hand covered in ugly old-fashioned rings that all of them recognized quickly. As they hurried away from the fire, Harry kept facing the flames, glaring hatefully at the groping hand. Just before he closed the door to his dormitory, he reached out his hand towards the fire. Using his Sorcery, he 'changed' the green flames of the Floo. The end result was that while the green flames remained, they were more or less evenly distributed between the normal orange-red flames. An unearthly feminine shriek of pain echoed out of the fireplace as the hand and forearm were literally burned from the fires they had been stuck into.

Harry rested _very_ peacefully that night with the memory of Umbridge's shriek in his dreams.

* * *

><p><strong>October 13, 1995<br>DADA Classroom**

The past week had been one of considerable stress for many of the students. With the advent of the newest Educational Decree that banned all clubs, groups, teams, and so on, many of the students were scrambling to receive the High Inquisitor's acceptance to maintain or re-form their various club activities. It really came as no surprise to Harry since he knew she had discovered Hermione's attempt to create a Defense club and was quite obviously reading his mail. He wasn't entirely sure why she was so obsessed with ruining everyone's time and experience at Hogwarts, but it was plainly evident to him that she was using it as a cover to get at _him_. Following her attempt to catch Sirius the Saturday before, Harry had been unable to stop the very pleased grin on his face when he came to her class on Monday and saw her arm in bandages. Apparently, she correctly assumed he was the one responsible for her injury and promptly gave him another week-long detention later during class for 'not paying attention' and had started following him under his Invisibility Cloak every chance she had.

It had been nearly 5 o'clock and Harry was really starting to feel his patience beginning to snap. It had been flayed something fierce for the past two hours since he'd arrived for his detention at Umbridge's classroom. The only consolation he had was the fact that Umbridge seemed to have moved from her favored Blood Quill. Even though it was obvious she still wanted to use it on him, it was also equally obvious that she couldn't. His hand was simply too tender, too raw, too torn up to safely continue using the Quill, despite his meager attempts at self-healing. Any further use of it would run the risk of causing him to sever one of the arteries in his hand have him bleed to death, necessitating a visit to the infirmary or Wizarding hospital that would demand a lot of 'unpleasant' questions.

Instead, Umbridge had him writing out whole chapters of the Defense textbook. And she refused to let him leave until he finished the set of pages or text in its entirety. By this point, he was already working on the latter half of the book, writing out its last five chapters for perhaps the third time of the week. If he ever came across the man or woman who had written this text, Harry wasn't sure if he'd be able to contain his potent desire to bash their heads in with his bare fists. He loathed this textbook with such a fiery passion!

He had thought that this was the worst of what could happen, but evidently he was wrong. For just as he was finishing the last of the text, he felt an all-too-familiar feeling creeping up on him. The icy aura, the all-consuming sensation of happiness being drawn out of the very air around him, the unsettling realization that he was in the presence of pure evil, that was his only warning before he faintly glimpsed a red light out of the corner of his eye and everything went black.

When he came to, Harry found himself bound to a chair by heavy, magically-reinforced chains. His hands were clasped to the armrests and his ankles to the front with the chains wrapping around his torso in an x-shape and locking behind his back. To his great relief, he could also feel the hilt of his lightsaber pressed up against his back from where it clipped to his waist. Good, it had been taken from him! But all that was secondary to the oppressive icy aura of darkness, decay, and hopelessness that was surrounding him. Lifting his head and opening his eyes, Harry found himself gazing at a pair of familiar cloaked and rotting forms of Dementors. It was apparent that the only thing keeping the pair of them secluded to the opposite side of the room was that of a cat Patronus that was pacing about just in front of them.

"Hem, hem," a familiar voice falsely coughed to his opposite side. Harry already knew she was there, but he'd ignored her as he stared at the Dementors to the side. Why were there Dementors here, in Hogwarts? How had she managed to get them inside without anyone seeming to notice? Why had she brought them here in the first place? This couldn't have been done legally, of _that_ he was sure. The professors and Headmaster had been quite vocal in their distaste and anger at having so many of the foul creatures surrounding Hogwarts in his Third Year. So it stood to reason that they wouldn't have condoned actually letting them _into_ Hogwarts!

"_Hem, hem!_" Umbridge much more forcefully crocked. But again he ignored her, puzzling over the presences of the Dementors in the room. There was something here that was playing at the edge of his awareness, some clue he'd overlooked, some link he hadn't yet made. The Dementors officially were supposed to be under the Ministry's strict control, guarding Azkaban Prison. And while Voldemort may entice them to join his side, aside from the two that had attacked him over the summer, there was no hint that he'd even approached them to sway them over to his side. That meant that, officially, the Dementors still followed the Ministry's orders. But the Ministry, even with as demented and twisted as it was becoming under Fudge's growing insanity, should never have brought the Dementors into the Hogwarts. That must mean that…Umbridge had brought them here illegally, without consent from either the headmaster or the Minister of Magic. But if she was could that, then didn't that also mean that she could…

Finally looking up at Umbridge, who was clearly on the verge of cursing him to get his attention on her, Harry stared at her with his more deadly glare. In a low, dangerous voice, he said, "You sent those two Dementors after me this summer. The ones who killed my Aunt and Uncle."

Giggling loudly, as if his accusation amused her, she grinned conceitedly, "Oh, very clever, Mr. Potter, very clever! Yes, I did! And that is something else we'll be talking about in a few minutes. For now, would you be so kind as to drink this?" She held up a small vial of a crystal-clear potion. Harry recognized it immediately from having seen it and its effects briefly after he'd returned with Cedric's body and Crouch Jr. had been captured and interrogated, Veritaserum!

Before Harry could do little more than widen his eyes in realization, Umbridge had already cast a spell and froze his body. As he struggled to summon his magic to break the Witch's spell on him (something he'd never tried before), Umbridge had opened his mouth and poured some of the potion down inside. As the potion slid down his throat, the effects immediately started taking effect on him. He could literally feel his conscious mind being separated from his body, losing his control over his body, though there were still some attachments that kept him anchored, they were weak at best.

"Is your name Harry Potter?" Umbridge asked immediately.

"Yes," Harry's body answered immediately in a flat tone of voice that conveyed none of his anger towards her.

"Are you indeed learning the illegal art of Sorcery?" _What the?! How did she find out about that?!_ But there was no denying the hungry gaze in her stare as she waited for him to answer.

"Yes," Harry again answered, despite all of his tremendous mental efforts to not answer, to fight back, to regain control of himself.

The look of pure triumphant glee on Umbridge's face was something that Harry quickly found he despised with a deep passion. "I suppose Dumbledore is the one teaching this Sorcery, isn't he?"

"No," Harry answered. Despite himself, he felt at least a little satisfaction at seeing Umbridge's triumphant grin fade as anger replaced her glee.

"How are you learning it?"

"From a book I found."

"Where is this book?"

"In my schoolbag."

Umbridge rushed over to where she'd evidently placed it and dumped it over. Among the clutter of ink, spare quills, rolls of parchment, his textbooks of the day, and some miscellaneous items, there was his leather-bound book of Sorcery. Taking the book and quickly skimming through it, she nodded in acceptance that she had found the actual book. Returning back to Harry, she lowered her face down to his and glared intensely at him. "How did you stop my Dementors without using magic?"

"I killed them," Harry answered automatically. Since Umbridge didn't specify her demand, that was the best answer she got. That, and Harry could feel himself quickly regaining control of his body now, which helped him to fight back and stop his mouth from further explaining just how he managed to kill them.

"_Impossible!_" Umbridge barked immediately, her confusion and anger causing her to miss the signs that he was regaining his control. "Dementors _cannot_ be killed! _How_ did you stop them?! Did you have help from some other, _older_ wizard or witch?!"

"No," Harry answered again, regaining enough control of himself to keep his curt answer the only answer.

Umbridge must've seen that he had regained himself. She leaned back and glared at him with anger and a look of resignation that she couldn't interrogate him further. Then, after a moment to recollect herself, her grinned returned with a vengeance. "I guess it doesn't matter. You're still going to Azkaban for being an illegal Sorcerer."

"And _you're_ going to Azkaban for bringing Dementors into a _Muggle_ suburban city, enabling the spiritual _deaths_ of two people, and bringing _two more_ Dementors into Hogwarts _itself_," Harry countered, forcing himself to _not_ use his powers to break free. His instincts told him that now wasn't the right time, despite how much he _**really**_ wanted to!

"Oh contraire, Mr. Potter," Umbridge purred back. "I have the full, legal backing of the _entire_ Ministry of Magic on my side. Sending two Dementors into a city? Ha, you can't prove that. The 'spiritual deaths' of two people? They're only Muggles. Who cares about them? And I'll be _praised_ by Minister Fudge for having the forethought to have two powerful escorts keeping a dangerous felon restrained until the Aurors arrive for his arrest and imprisonment. The _law_ is what we _make of it_, Mr. Potter."

With that, she marched over to doorway that the two Dementors were more or less guarding. She didn't even pause as she reached the door and purred out to them, "Watch him closely. If he tries to escape, Kiss him."

As the door closed behind her, the cat Patronus faded and the two Dementors glided over towards him. They took positions on either side of them, scarcely more than an arm's reach away, trying to exert their oppressive down on him even more strongly. But Harry was much more powerful than he had been the last time he'd been in their presence and was able to shrug off their power with relative ease. Instead, Harry bowed his head, thinking deeply on what he should do now.

He could no longer stay at Hogwarts, or anywhere in the Wizarding World anymore. Umbridge was no doubt contacting Fudge this very moment. In fact, he could feel her as she moved about in her office and the sudden flare of the Floo as it was activated. Even if he tried to lie and claim that Umbridge was trying to spread lies about him, Fudge would no doubt leap at the chance to expel, arrest, and imprison him, even if the fact that the illegal use of Veritaserum on a minor came up. There would be no trial of defense, he already knew that. And even if there was, by some miracle, it would be heavily-rigged against him to the point nothing he said or did would reflect positively on him. And while Dumbledore may have a lot of power and influence, even if that said power was in serious question these days, even he would no doubt have to side with the Ministry on this issue, assuming that Ron was correct in how the Wizarding World as a whole viewed Sorcerers in general.

His life as a Wizard was now and forever effectively over.

But, much to his great surprise, he found he no longer cared. Granted, he was going to miss his friends and all the good memories he had gained over the last few years (this year notwithstanding). And as bleak as his future as a Wizard may have appeared, he could now see a vast swath of new choices and options open to him. He wouldn't be bound by Wizarding laws anymore (to an extent, at least). This meant that he could take much more active roles in the coming war against Voldemort! He could much more freely explore his MagiTech without worrying about homework or intrusive Inquisitors. He could dedicate more of his time to learning and mastering his Sorcery powers! Heck, he could even leave Great Britain altogether and travel the world if he so wanted!

Yes, he no longer had any reason to remain at Hogwarts.

As if to justify him, Harry sensed Umbridge abruptly vanish as she entered the Floo fully and was transported the Ministry of Magic. He knew she was traveling to the Ministry now to give Fudge a more detailed report, maybe even share her memory of the interrogation. Regardless of her reasoning, he knew that when she returned, she wouldn't be alone.

Clenching his hands around the armrests, Harry focused his magic upon the magic of the chains and shackles that held him in place. With a simple exertion of force, the shackles snapped open and the chains fell free to the floor. Launching himself forward, Harry slipped past and between the Dementors as they both jolted towards him, comically hitting one another on their 'heads'. Spinning around, Harry used their distraction to launch a powerful telekinetic shove, throwing both of them back into the far wall.

As they were recovering themselves, Harry grabbed his lightsaber and clamped on the emitter shroud. Igniting it, he leapt at the dark magic monsters, killing both with a single slash of his blade. Ignoring the disintegrating forms, he turned and collected his upturned schoolbag and discarded wand, he'd needing them in a short while. Rushing to Umbridge's office, he kicked the door open, smashing the wood in the process. In the room, he sought out the familiar feel of his Invisibility Cloak, finding it hidden in the lower drawer of her desk. Taking and donning the cloak, he then rushed out of the classroom and down towards his workshop.

If he was leaving Hogwarts, he wasn't going to leave behind his prototypes and research.

* * *

><p><strong>Entrance Hall<strong>

There was quite a commotion going on in the Entrance Hall. Harry knew what was going on long before he actually saw it. He could feel Fudge and Umbridge's presences there, along with easily two dozen Aurors, and they were in quite a heated argument with Dumbledore. And he could easily guess what it was about. Most of the students were gathered around the stairs down into the dungeons or towards the Grand Staircase close to where the Great Hall was located. Since this was happening shortly before dinner was about to be served, nearly the entire school population were present.

Hidden safely under his Invisibility Cloak with his schoolbag shrunk down to fit in his pocket, Harry snuck quietly up the staircase from the dungeons. Scooting around and between the different students who had gathered around the stair's upper steps, he was finally able to catch sight of the loud but incoherent words that were taking place there. It seemed that neither Fudge, Dumbledore, nor any of the Aurors seemed to care that they were attracting a large portion of the student body's attention.

"—arrested right now, Dumbledore!" Fudge was saying quite passionately. "I will not have you interfering a sanctioned Ministry proceeding this time!"

"I'm afraid that I cannot, in good conscience, simply allow you to arrest a young student with nothing more than the High Inquisitor's declaration of him performing illegal magical arts," Dumbledore said, unmoved in either his tone of voice or posture.

"I would not make false claims about something so serious, Headmaster!" Umbridge declared, standing as tall and proudly as her short figure could allow, self-importance and vindication quite evident in her posture and voice.

As the Headmaster was about to make another statement, Harry sensed a pair of Aurors rushing through the halls towards them. From the direction they were approaching from, as well as the outright panic in their auras, he knew they had just discovered his and the Dementors' missing presences in Umbridge's classroom. "Minister!" one of the Aurors cried out as they rounded the corner, shoving aside several students who hadn't moved aside fast enough. "He's gone! Potter's missing!"

"What?!" Umbridge and Fudge both cried in surprise, much to Harry's private delight. Then Umbridge demanded, "What of the Dementors guarding him?!"

"_Dementors?!_" the entire gathering of professors, students, Aurors, and even Fudge all cried out, shocked and quite disturbed at the possibility of having such foul creatures inside the school without their knowledge or consent.

"W-W-We didn't see any when we came through your Floo link," the other Auror answered, recovering from the surprise quicker than the rest.

"Impossible!" Umbridge cried out, her eyes widening as (Harry assumed) she realized that he _hadn't_ been lying when he said he could kill Dementors. "That's _impossible!_"

Due to his distraction at seeing Umbridge so flustered and even scared, Harry didn't notice that one of the students next to him was stepping around the others to get a better vantage point. The student, a Slytherin, bumped into him and caused both of them to grunt and momentarily lose their balances. Though he caught and steadied himself, the damage was done. The Slytherins around him had heard him and were turning to face where they thought he was. The Slytherin who'd actually hit him quickly reached out and managed to grab ahold of his Cloak, yanking on it. The Cloak was pulled off of him before he could dodge away and keep it secured around him. At least he was able to yank his Cloak back out of the surprised Slytherin's hand when he suddenly emerged and became visible again.

"It's Potter!" Malfoy cried out eagerly as soon as he recognized Harry, sneering conceitedly at the fumbling Gryffindor. "Over here! It's _Potter!_"

In a burst of anger, Harry thrust his hand towards Draco, sending the blonde ponce flying across the Entrance Hall and coming to a crumpling halt at Fudge's feet. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the collected students quickly shot away from Harry, leaving him completely exposed to the Aurors and Fudge. Draco quickly scrambled to his feet and fled off to the side with a hateful glare at Harry, which Harry ignored with practiced ease.

"Mr. Potter, you're under arrest for treason and illegal use of Sorcery!" Fudge immediately declared, blatantly ignoring everything else around him as he drew himself up in a self-righteous manner.

"You sure love posturing for the masses, don't you?" Harry asked irritably, stepping up out of the stairwell and into the Entrance Hall fully as he stuffed his Cloak into his magically-enchanted pocket with his schoolbag.

Snarling at Harry's disrespect, Fudge pointed at Harry as he looked over his shoulder. "Arrest him now!"

Harry ignored the Aurors as they hurried past the Minister, stopping a short distance away from him with their wands leveled at him. Several of them fired some spells at him, but Harry tapped into his enhanced flexibility and speed to easily dodge or evade the spells. In fact, on a whim, he actually threw himself up into the air and somersaulted over a Jelly-Leg Jinx, landing lightly on his feet and continuing his walk without a seeming care. This show of acrobatics with casual ease caused the Aurors, and the bystanders, to blink in surprise. Harry continued to ignore until he came to a stop at the foot of the large staircase leading up towards the Grand Staircase.

Turning back to face the Minister while still ignoring the somewhat unsettling stares of the school around him, Harry said, "You really are a pathetic man, Fudge. You would happily arrest and condemn innocent people just to ensure that your precious peace will not be disturbed by _unpleasant truths_."

"How dare you—!"

"_I dare_," Harry interrupted before the Minister could get started on his rant. "because it's the _truth_. I _dare_ because I face my fears and dangers _head on_, not _cowering_ behind others doing your bidding." He gestured towards the wall of Aurors who stood quite clearly between them, causing a lot of quiet muttering among the students and uneasy glances between the Aurors in question. "But that is beside the point here. You would imprison me, _without_ a trial I'm guessing, because you don't want to accept those _unpleasant truths_. Well, let me make something perfectly clear to you, to _all_ of you!"

"Whether you accept Voldemort's return or not, Cedric Diggory was still murdered!" Harry said, loudly so that his voice carried throughout the entire Hall. "And his murderer is _still out there!_ And if you believe _nothing_ else, believe _this:_ I will not stop until I lay that murderer's cold, bloody corpse at your feet!" He pointed quite clearly straight at Fudge to help enunciate his solemn vow.

"A fine speech, Mr. Potter," Umbridge spoke up, grinning conceitedly. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're still under arrest for—"

"_Shut up_, you ugly _toad!_" Harry snapped, glaring at her. There was soft, muted chuckling among the students at _that_ particular remark. Clearly, Umbridge picked up on the students' repressed amusement and started going a rather interesting shade of red as her anger mounted.

"_Enough of this!_" Fudge yelled, once again regaining everyone's attentions. "Aurors, I _order_ you to _arrest_ him—_**NOW!**_"

"I'm _not_ going to prison to satisfy your _fantasy_ world, Fudge," Harry declared, removing his school robe and letting it fall the ground around him, leaving him dressed in his red and gold Gryffindor undershirt and black slacks. This action also caused his lightsaber hilt to become exposed to the students who were watching from the Entrance Hall's second level and balcony. As the Aurors started moving towards him again, preparing to launch Stunners, body-binders, and rope spells at him, he grabbed the lightsaber hilt and held it forward towards the approaching Aurors. The Aurors all stopped at the sight of a strange contraption they could guess was a weapon but didn't recognize.

"The world is changing," Harry said, igniting the lightsaber and causing the Aurors to flinch back in reflex as the loud _snap-hiss_ noise. Sweeping the blade to his side in a casual stance, Harry closed his eyes as he delved deeply into the magic around him, summoning it and becoming one with it and his surroundings. Despite having his eyes closed, Harry became more aware of his surroundings than ever before.

"_Remember, Fudge_," Even to his own ears, Harry's voice carried a subtle undertone of power that _commanded_ attention. "_Whatever happens next was entirely __**your**__ choice_."

The next few seconds seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Around him, Harry could sense the emotions of everyone present. The majority of the school were scared, excited, confused, concerned, or happy with what was happening before them. The Aurors were a mixture of cocky arrogance, confidence, uncertainty, fear, or resignation. Fudge was wavering between fear, rage, uncertainty, and pompous pride. Umbridge was perhaps the easiest to read because she had nothing more than a dark desire to see him arrested and imprisoned for life.

Despite himself, Harry almost let out a sigh of exasperation when he sensed something else. From all of the collected observers, he could sense a variable amount of curiosity towards the unusual weapon he was carrying. A vast majority of those people were far from impressed, and he could practically read their thoughts on what they thought it was. '_What kind of pathetic weapon is that?' 'What can a flimsy stick of light like that possibly do to a group of Aurors?' 'It's going to be so funny watching Potter get knocked off his high horse when the Aurors finally take him down._' He knew that this line of thinking was quite prominent among the Purebloods and Halfbloods. But it was the Muggleborns that he sensed true awe, reverence, and excitement. They had grown up in a full Muggle household, and as such were exposed to certain things that the Purebloods and Halfbloods weren't, who usually were raised in purely magical households. Thus, they were the only ones to recognize what he was holding and the true significance of just what it was and could possibly do.

"_STOP __**STARING**__ AND __**ARREST**__ HIM!_" Fudge yelled, having finally given into his pride as being the most powerful man in the Ministry of Magic, fear of losing that position and the acclaim to some senile old man and his teenaged upstart of a figurehead, and rage at the said 'figurehead's open mockery of him.

"_Expelliarmus!_" one of the Aurors fired off.

This time, Harry didn't bother trying to dodge the magic bolt. He simply waited for the magic to reach him before he swept his arm upwards, deflecting the spell up towards the ceiling where it crashed with only a small explosion of magical discharge to mark the spot. All went dead silent and still in the Entrance Hall for a long moment as everyone took in just what had happened and what it meant. It was in that moment of silence that Harry finally opened his eyes and stared at the collected Ministry officials with a detached calmness that seemed quite out of place on his face.

"Here's to finally getting expelled," Harry said with a wan smile on his face, his voice echoing off the walls. But despite the smile on his face, all bystanders and participants could practically feel the sadness in his aura, hear the resignation in his voice, and see the look of wistful longing on his face. He had already accepted the fact that his days in Hogwarts and the Wizarding World as a whole were over now, and it saddened more than he could possibly convey in words. Looking at his situation logically, Harry knew he really should have been expelled ages ago. And now, at last, it takes a Ministry attack force, sorcery, and what was likely to be a life and death struggle in front of the whole school to do it. '_Only Fred and George could top something like this._'

Then he launched himself up into a titanic jump that no normal person and Wizard could possibly be capable of, sailing over the frontline of Aurors and landing behind them before they could overcome their shock. Spinning around, he thrust both his hands at them, blasting them with a powerful wave of telekinesis that sent them flying forwards, disoriented and confused. Spinning back around, he deflected six different spells launched at him from different angles, knocking them safely up to the ceiling.

"You really are reckless law enforcers," Harry observed as he batted aside yet another spell. "Using so many spells where so many _innocent_ bystanders are in danger of being hit. What would happen if I _didn't_ try to protect them from your stupidity?"

His question caused several of the Aurors to lower their wands as they looked around, as if seeing the large number of watching students for the first time. However, the rest of the Aurors ignored Harry's questions and continued firing off their spells at him while rushing around the sides to try and flank him. Having to increase his speed to keep up with the wider area of spells being fired at him from, Harry began drawing in the magic around him. A corona of visible magic began to collect around his fast-moving body, causing gawking awe from the students and several of the smarter or more experienced Aurors to brace themselves.

Jumping lightly into the air, Harry curled himself into a ball as the massive amount of magic around him was drawn towards him, compressed and eager to break away. With a loud shout of exertion, Harry threw his arms and legs out, launching the magic into a massive spherical blast of pure power. The overwhelming force of the blast sent all of the nearby Aurors flying in all directions away from him, leaving Harry standing in the eye of the storm he'd created so briefly

"Harry, you need to stop this now," a slightly familiar voice spoke up in front of him. It was that Auror he'd briefly met back at Grimmauld Place, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He seemed to have been the only one of the Aurors still standing, having used a powerful Shield Charm to block or redirect Harry's repulse. "That power will lead you down a path you don't want to walk, even if you're trying to bring a killer to justice. You don't know what that kind of power can do to a person."

Flashes of a mechanical being dressed in black armor who mercilessly condoned the destruction of an entire planet shot through Harry's mind. "I think I have a pretty good idea of what could happen."

"If you stop this now, I'm sure that the Minister will be willing to overlook all this, but you _have to_ _**stop**_," Kingsley pled, a look of genuine desire to help Harry crossing his face. But Harry could see over Kingsley's shoulder, where Fudge was gawking in plainly visible growing fear and anger. Even without his enhanced senses, Harry could've easily guessed the man's mental state and thought processes.

"We both know that door has already been slammed shut, Auror," Harry said, his voice devoid of all emotion except a detached calmness that was as surprising to him as everyone else. He didn't know how or why, but he just didn't feel anger or aggression anymore, not even when he had been in the heat of combat a few moments ago.

"Very well then," Kingsley said, casting his wand about as he muttered muted complex magical phrases. Around him, large chunks of the stone floor began rising up out of the ground, molding and growing up into a large behemoth figure. After several long moments, Harry stared up at the titanic form of what could've only been some kind of super-advanced Auror-level golem. The golem had a very strong resemblance to a praying mantis with two large antennae protruding from its head, a slender neck that connected the head to a long body that was adorned with six pincer-equipped legs. Strangely, aside from the shining blue eyes it had, the two ends of the antennae on its head were glowing with powerful, repressed magic.

Despite himself, Harry couldn't help swallowing back a bit of well-deserved fear at this show of advanced magic. He had _never_ heard of anything like this, thus he had no idea of just what it was capable of. And that stark realization set him on edge immediately.

Taking a large step forward, the golem's antennae glowed brightly momentarily before a pair of powerful but narrow streams of pure magical energy shot out of them. Harry fumbled to bring his lightsaber up to block the magic, but the sheer force of the impact knocked the saber from his hand and sent him careening backwards a short distance, landing on his back. The heavy stomps and vibrating floor told him the golem rushing to keep him down and secure. Looking up, Harry had just enough time to see the golem raising one of its pincers to bring down on him. He quickly rolled to the side, just missing the pincer as it smashed into the floor. Pushing himself up to his hands and knees, Harry kicked off and slid backwards between the golem's legs as it was preparing to bring another pincer down on him.

Jumping to his feet and dashing to the side, Harry watched the golem as it turned towards him at speeds that surprised him. '_It's faster than it looks_,' Harry analyzed as the golem caught sight of him, its antennae glowing ominously. This time prepared, Harry gathered a large amount of magic into his hand and raised it defensively in front of him just as the golem launched its attack. The magic beams slammed into Harry's palm, emitting a potent heat that Harry could feel and yet not feel, merely detecting the impression of the heat on his skin. The impact of the beams still knocked him slightly off balance, toppling him down to his knees and forcing him to steady himself with his spare hand. All the while, the magic beams continued to bear down on him, determined to power through his defense to reach him and knock him unconscious.

Bracing himself, Harry raised his spare hand and directed it towards the golem's leg that he could see. Channeling the ambient magic into a form that he hasn't used since he spoke to Firenze, Harry unleashed strong torrents of lightning from his fingertips and palm. The lightning slammed into the golem's leg, knocking it back and disrupting its stance, which in turn caused it to cease its beam attack as it steadied itself. Rushing towards it, Harry reached out his hand to where he could sense his lightsaber had fallen and summoned it back to his hand.

Leaping up, Harry ignited the blade as he landed upon the golem's bucking and thrashing head. With one hand to hold himself in place, Harry stabbed his saber down into its 'brain' repeatedly, trying to disrupt the internal magics that were holding it together. But that did little more than apparently disorient and piss the golem off, causing it stumble and slide across the floor as it launched magic beams that drilled and burned through everything they came into contact with, all in a vain attempt to reach him or knock him off of itself. Seeing the effect he was having, Harry quickly changed tactics, yanking his saber out and slashing off the two antennae, abruptly cutting off the arcing beams as they were starting to swing towards the unprotected and unprepared bystanders.

Releasing his hold, Harry slid down off it neck and onto its torso, slicing off several of its legs to cripple its mobility and speed. As the golem tilted precariously to one side, Harry leapt off it fully and landed on the debris-strewn floor several meters away. Turning back to the golem, he had just a moment to glimpse it struggling towards him, raising one of its severed and still-red hot limbs to jab him with. Thrusting out his hand, Harry used his power to stop the limb in place before it could come closer than a meter's length from reaching him. The golem struggled to break free of his grip when it saw this. Switching off his lightsaber, Harry brought his free hand forward to help him reinforce his hold on it, lifting its heavy bulk completely off the ground.

Clenching his fists mightily, Harry used his power to crush its remaining limbs to gravel and dust before releasing it of his hold. As the bulk of the golem descended for the floor, Harry reignited his lightsaber and leapt up beside it, his blade slashing through half of its torso. The body crashed to the ground as Harry reached his jump's apex, gently sliding over to the opposite side of it. As gravity pulled him back down to the ground, Harry brought his lightsaber down, completely bisecting the golem into perfect halves.

All was once again silent in the Entrance Hall as Harry calmly stood back up to his feet, the remains of the golem disintegrating into an unrecognizable pile of dirt, debris, and dust. Facing Kingsley, Harry raised his free hand towards him and gave him the classical 'come on' gesture, silently asking him to try again. Kingsley was visibly panting from the massive amounts of magic and mental concentration he'd put into creating and controlling the golem, so he was far from ready for another shot. The black man merely raised his hands in a surrendering gesture as he wisely stepped aside, showing he would no longer try to interfere with Harry.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Looking over at where the curse was launched from, Harry stared unerringly at Umbridge. He didn't even break his gaze as he held up his lightsaber to absorb the deadly and supposedly unstoppable Killing Curse, unwilling to risk deflecting it anywhere else. "_You __**truly**__ are a __**monster**__, you __**witch**_," he growled at the stunned witch, his voice once again reverberating with an incredible and unnatural power.

Using all of his speed, Harry sprinted up to the Dark Witch even faster than she or anyone else present could blink, much less try to stop him. He slashed his lightsaber up in a rising arc across her chest, not enough to actually kill her since he didn't want to be branded an outright murderer. But his attack definitely would leave a permanent slash mark across her torso. And despite all his hatred of the witch, he felt absolutely no pity or satisfaction as he watched her shriek out in agony, falling to the floor and staring in total horror at her smoothly dismembered right forearm and hand that was still gripping her wand, which she'd reflexively tried to use to protect herself with from the saber blade.

It took only a glance at the terrified pudgy man who now stood less than a meter from him to send him falling to the ground, crying out in fear and practically begging for his life.

Deactivating his lightsaber, he swept his arms to the sides and sent Umbridge and Fudge's downed forms sliding in opposite directions, leaving the exit before open and unblocked from any further combatants. Turning, he glanced over his shoulder towards the watching students, professors, and quickly-recovering Aurors. Forcefully ignoring the school and Aurors, Harry fixed his gaze on Headmaster Dumbledore, "Sorry, Headmaster. Looks like I'll have to hand in my resignation from the school. I hope they don't blame you for this. It _wasn't_ your fault."

Dumbledore looked every bit his age as he gazed sadly at Harry, clearly unable to find the words to voice his thoughts. In the end, he merely gave the departing Potter a curt nod as he said, "You are hereby expelled from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry nodded in acceptance. Turning back to the exit, he raise his free arm in a farewell wave over his shoulder as he started walking out the doors. Then he vanished in a burst of speed towards the Forbidden Forest. Reaching into his pocket as he ran, he pulled out his wand. "_Accio Firebolt!_"

As he raced away from the castle, he knew his life would never be same again.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) Before any of you start harping about how Harry (barely even a Fifth Year student who hasn't even taken his OWLs) was able to basically curb-stomp 2 dozen trained Aurors with no difficulty, I'd like to make a few clear about how Harry was able to do this. The first and most important thing to consider is that Harry is the first known Sorcerer in Great Britain for at least the last 100 years or so, so the Aurors had next to no knowledge or training on how to handle a person like him.

The second thing is how Harry is able to use his Sorcery: wandless, silent, and with ease despite his relative inexperience. He doesn't have to waste time waving, flicking, or jabbing a wand in complex patterns while chanting out magical phrases of gibberish. This saves time and gives him a _huge_ advantage in and of itself. Also, he is changing into a very different type of combatant than they've ever had to deal with. Where Wizards and Witches view combat as taking place at mid- to long-range with high amounts of magic being thrown about, Harry is becoming a close-range fighter who can enhance his body to superhuman levels thanks to his Sorcery.

When combined with his lightsaber, a tool he's created and never revealed until just now, this makes him a practically unbeatable foe to most run-of-the-mill Wizards because they have never seen such a weapon before or know of its many different capabilities and dangerous powers.

And all that is without even considering his _**massive**_ amount of raw power. Simply put, if Kingsley were a loch, Harry would've been an ocean.

Frankly at this point, the only one present who could've beaten Harry would've been Albus Dumbledore. Albus had not only a large amount of experience and power, but he knew far more types of magic and tactics to win than all of the Aurors combined and then some. And while his power may not hold a candle to Harry anymore, it was still considerable and nothing to sneeze at. Had he entered the fight, Harry would've been beaten in a comparatively long and hard-fought battle.

PS: If no one can see the parallels between this fight scene and a fairly well-known game trailer in recent media, I'm going to be _**VERY**_ surprised and maybe a little disappointed.


	7. Never the Same Again

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#07: Never the Same Again<em>

**October 13, 1995  
>Northumberland, England<strong>

For all the incredible speed that the Firebolt was capable of, Harry found that he still couldn't outrun the onset of night and had to set down soon. Flying at night was no problem, even preferable to flying during the day. But the problem lie in the simple fact that he still hadn't had dinner due to Umbridge's detention-turned-interrogation, and thus he was starving. Which in turn led him to a major problem that he hadn't realized he had until just recently: he had no money, whether golden Galleons or Muggle pounds.

As he was struggling with the moral dilemma of stealing food, he sensed something peculiar. It tickled the edges of his perception in a way that was similar to, but quite different from his Sorcery. This strange sensation caused him to come to an immediate halt, hovering in place as he reached out his senses to try and verify what it was that he could feel. Interestingly, that initial comparison of it being like Sorcery and yet different stood out quite prominently. Intrigued, he veered off from his southern course and flew off westerly towards where he could feel it coming from.

Flying high in the dark sky, Harry gazed down at the black roads, forested hills, and waving grasslands. Scattered about in seemingly random locations were the headlights of vehicles and the bright glares of streetlamps and city lights. But where he was flying towards was out in the middle of a darkened forested valley. As he approached it, his senses buzzed with the much more familiar feel of Wizard magic like wards, charms, and repelling jinxes. If his senses were accurate, then these unique wards and whatnot were geared towards repelling not only Muggles but also Wizards.

And as he flew closer, rounding one of the wooded hills, he found himself staring at what seemed like a small village. From the air and even to the casual eye, it looked every bit a common Muggle hamlet. But he could feel the magic that hung in the air around it, permeating through it like a fine perfume. This was a magical village of some sort. And that strange tingle he could feel was coming from inside it. What was that tingle?!

Flying in close, he set down just outside the wards. Stowing his broom into his enchanted pocket, Harry approached the village's boundary on foot, passing through the wards easily. Though the wards didn't do anything to harm him, he could feel them pulse outwards from his entry spot, like ripples in a pond. In that moment, he knew that his entrance into the village had been detected by someone, probably the leader or owner. Resting one hand on the hilt of his lightsaber and the other on his wand, both of which hung from his belt, Harry cautiously entered the village.

Looking around, he noticed that many of the people in the streets were behaving much like any other civilians would. Some were talking amongst themselves as they walked towards their destinations, some stood in front of stores and windows looking inwards, and he could hear a lot of loud, raucous singing taking place over at what seemed like a popular pub. And each of the people had that strange tingle was emanating from them, some more strongly than others.

"And what's a young child like you doing out this late at night?" a low voice demanded from a nearby alley in a tone that sounded remarkably similar to a growl.

Looking over at the man, Harry took only a second to blink in surprise at the man. Though he was dressed casually as any other Muggle with jacket over a dark shirt and some worn jeans, there was a certain look in his eyes that just screamed that he was a powerful predator on the hunt. In fact, Harry wouldn't have been exaggerating to say that the man's eyes had the same glow to them as a dog or cat had at night. Though he had his arms crossed and was leaning against the side of the building, partially hidden in the shadows, there was no mistaking the air of danger that the man exuded.

"Just hoping to find a bite to eat," Harry answered truthfully, taking one of his hands to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. "I forgot to bring my wallet from home."

"So, you were just hoping to bewitch one of my cooks into feeding you free of charge?" the man demanded bluntly, standing up straight as he uncrossed his arms.

"If that were the case, I wouldn't have told you I have no money, would I?" Harry challenged, not backing down from the man as he dropped his hand to his side. His other hand started tightening ever-so-slightly around his lightsaber.

"Perhaps," the man agreed, nodding his head slightly in allowance to Harry's point. "But nonetheless, you are in Alba Pack territory and we don't abide Wizards, children or not."

"Alba Pack?" Harry asked, curiosity and confusion evident in his expression and voice. "What's that? I've never heard of 'Alba Pack' before."

"Of _course_ you wouldn't," the man sneered, walking out of the shadows. He came to a stop a few arm-lengths away from Harry, lights of the streetlamps finally giving Harry a clear image of the man. "Why would a boy-Wizard like you know about the Alba Werewolf Pack of Northumberland?" From the way the man continued sneering at Harry, it was obvious he was awaiting for the panic to set in and scare the boy witless.

Blinking slightly, Harry turned and looked around the village street again. So that was why these people all gave off such a strange tingle? Because they were all Werewolves? Now that he took the time to think about it, it made much more sense to him. But, if his senses were telling him the truth, there must've been at least a hundred people in this village. _All_ of them were Werewolves? Despite himself, Harry suddenly realized just why the Ministry of Magic never seemed to have a problem with the so-called Dark Creatures. If they all lived in little, isolated communities like these, it definitely made containing and controlling them much more efficient and easy.

"Who are you and what are you doing here, boy?!" the Werewolf demanded, much more hostilely since he was plainly disappointed at not seeing Harry panic.

"I'm Harry and I'm just looking for some food," Harry repeated, looking back at the man levelly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way."

"Oh no, you don't!" the man barked reaching forward to grab the departing boy by his shirt collar. To the Werewolf's surprise, Harry easily bounced out of his reach at a speed that was surprising. It was a very rare occurrence for a normal Wizard to be able to dodge a Werewolf, especially at such close-range. As Harry turned to face him, the Werewolf let out a loud growl as his lips twisted into a hateful snarl. "Wizard scum!"

Yet again, impossibly, the Werewolf was dodged by the boy as he knelt under the lunge. With a simple application of strength and leverage, Harry easily tossed the man over his shoulder and slammed him down on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. As he was stepping away from the slowly-recovering Werewolf, the bystanders on the street suddenly ceased their business to turn and watch the spectacle that was taking place.

"Leave me alone," Harry said. "I'm not hurting anyone and have no wish to. You're just going to embarrass yourself in front of all these people if this continues."

"Shut up, ya damn _Wizard_!" the Werewolf spat, rolling over onto all fours, and glaring at Harry in a stance that strongly resembled his canine curse, complete with flashing golden eyes.

"You don't know what you're up against," Harry stated, unclipping his lightsaber and holding out his free hand towards the man. "And I really don't want to hurt you defending myself."

The man didn't even try to respond before lunging again with even greater speed. Harry leapt high into the air, landing atop the nearest streetlamp while keeping his eye on the man below. Around him, the crowd watched with heightened interest. Unlike with normal Wizards, such feats of strength, speed, and nimble agility as what Harry was demonstrating was nothing out of the norm, especially with the full moon so close. By what caught and kept their interest was the obvious _lack_ of the Werewolf scent that Harry had.

As the man below was preparing to launch himself up after the boy, a loud voice yelled out, "_What's going on here?!_"

"Hendrick! It's a Wizard!" the man yelled out, immediately turning his attention to the tall man marching through the crowded street towards them. Even from a distance, Harry could see that this was a man who you _didn't_ cross, no matter what, if you valued your life. Powerfully built, with a shaven head, strong jaw, and who moved like an expertly-trained boxer, Hendrick would not have been out of place wearing a Muggle soldier uniform in Harry's opinion. All of which was a massive contrast to the man below him, who seemed little more than a vagabond in shabby clothes.

"I think it's pretty clear that's what I'm _not_," Harry called down. "Not anymore."

"Why don't you come down here and tell me what you are, then?" Hendrick asked, glancing up at Harry for a moment. Then he turned and glared at the vagabond, "Get lost, Baxter." The vagabond quickly scampered back into the alley from whence he'd come from, clearly terrified of inciting his alpha's wrath.

Only once Baxter was gone did Harry drop back down to the ground, landing lightly just in front of Hendrick. "I'm very sorry about all this, sir. I was just looking for a place to have something to eat and maybe spend the night, and then I'd be on my way."

Hendrick merely quirked an eyebrow at Harry's polite attitude towards him. It was something he very rarely encountered among Wizards, being treated as a person and not a foul mongrel that should be muzzled and put down immediately. Taking a few deep sniffs, Hendrick gazed down at Harry, "You smell like wind, ink, blood, and…nature? What are you, boy? No normal Wizard smells like _that_."

Harry gave him a partial grin. "I'm not exactly a Wizard anymore. And I'll definitely tell you, just not here okay? I don't want to be attacked again…and could we eat as we talked? I really _am_ hungry."

Glancing around at the members of his Pack who were still lingering around them, Hendrick nodded in agreement. Gesturing to the side, he said, "This way. Don't run off."

* * *

><p>Dinner for Harry was a simple potato soup with some bread and milk to wash it down with. During that time, Harry was introduced to Hendrick's wife Maria and their young son Michael. Although Maria filled the silence of the dining room with polite talk ranging from how the wheat crop was abiding the final months of growth to certain bits of gossip she overheard among the other housewives of the village, Harry felt Hendrick's powerful gaze on him throughout the entirety of the small meal. Harry knew that the large Werewolf was watching, observing, scrutinizing for any signs of aggression towards his family. Michael clearly took after his mother, joining her in 'polite' conversation as he eagerly told them how he was going to bash in the face of his rival tomorrow morning to assert his dominance, which his father sternly warned him not to with a slight growl and a narrowed glare. Once dinner was finished and Harry happily offered his help in cleanup in payment for the meal, but Hendrick pulled him aside into the living room to have their awaited conversation.<p>

"Now that you're fed, talk," he stated as soon as Harry entered the small but quaint room. Hendrick took up a place at the doorway, leaning against it slightly with his arms crossed, watching Harry carefully. "Who are you? What business brings a Hogwarts student so far south in the middle of the school year? And what is that thing you were planning to use on Baxter had I not called him off?"

Turning to face the Werewolf, Harry took a breath as he prepared for what he knew would likely become an unpleasant conversation. Holding himself modestly but firmly, he began, "My name is Harry Potter." Seeing Hendrick's eyes immediately fly up to the unmanageable mop that covered his forehead, he reached up and swept back his bangs to expose his famous scar for a moment. Letting his hair fall back down, he continued, "I am not a student of Hogwarts anymore because the Ministry's become infested with the corrupt, the self-righteous, and the willfully ignorant. As you probably know, Fudge has been looking for an excuse to permanently shut me up about Voldemort's return since June, and now he's finally found an excuse." Much to Harry's great interest, Hendrick didn't even twitch at the mention of Voldemort's name.

"And that excuse is…?"

"That I'm now a Sorcerer," Harry admitted, watching Hendrick just as closely as the Werewolf was watching him. "That I now have access to a forbidden branch of magic that they don't understand."

"And people fear that which they don't understand," Hendrick stated, he once again didn't even twitch at the mention of Sorcery. Though he did raise an eyebrow at Harry's claim of learning a forbidden branch of magic. There were many types of magic in the world, and more than a few of them were illegal or forbidden. After a moment of silence, Hendrick gestured slightly at Harry's waist, silently asking about what hung there.

Unclipping his lightsaber, Harry held it up, carefully in front of him and pointed upwards to not startle the Werewolf. "This is what I used to help me escape Hogwarts when Fudge and two dozen Aurors tried to arrest me." Igniting the lightsaber filled the room with a soft blue glow, causing Hendrick to quickly step back into a defensive stance out of instinct. But after a long moment, he relaxed out of it when he saw just what it was that Harry was holding before he scrutinized it carefully.

"That looks like a lightsaber," he observed.

"You know what a lightsaber is?" Harry asked, quite surprised as he deactivated the weapon.

"Of course," Hendrick answered, finally letting out a slight grin at the young teenager. "I wasn't born an ignorant Werewolf or raised as a Wizard. My name _was_ Major Jason Zimmerman of the Royal Army, former SAS officer."

"SAS?!" Harry repeated, surprised yet again. But, even as he reexamined the man before him, Harry realized that his initial assumption of the man being an exemplary example of soldier had been spot on. "Yeah, I can it now. You hold yourself like a soldier."

Hendrick nodded, his face returning to its previous impassive expression. "Then I was bitten by that bastard Greyback back in '87 and had to retire or be put down those Ministry bastards of yours… So, yes, I am quite familiar with what a lightsaber is. It is truly impressive that you could make one. I thought they were just fantasy weapons." Despite himself, Harry smiled slightly. He was finding that he loved it when someone praised his lightsaber, which seemed to be almost everyone at this point.

"What is this 'Sorcery' that has those fools hunting you like a dog?"

"Well, if you're familiar with _Star Wars_, then Sorcery is pretty much like the Force, but with magic," Harry explained, smirking slightly at Hendrick's raised eyebrow. "What I didn't know until after I started learning it was that Sorcery is basically the most illegal form of magic there is and the Wizarding World doesn't _like_ Sorcerers one bit."

"So what are you planning to do now?" Hendrick asked. "Hide in the Muggle World from on? Challenge the Ministry of Magic? Topple it? Take over the Wizarding World and become its King?"

"There is _no way_ I'll ever become a ruler, too much ass-kissing and too little justice being done," Harry stated sternly. "I'm going to hunt down Voldemort, kill him, and then…I don't know. We'll see when I get there."

"Very well," Hendrick acquiesced, nodding. After a moment of silence, he said, "You have some considerable courage speaking so openly about your intentions."

Catching Hendrick's hidden meaning, Harry explained, "If you had wanted to harm me or contact Voldemort, you'd have done so as soon as you learned who I was. And I don't sense any hostility from you towards me. Your only concern is protecting your family and the Alba Pack…Although, I would strongly recommend keeping a close eye on that 'Baxter' fellow."

Hendrick nodded in agreement. "You may stay the night, but you must leave tomorrow morning. Baxter may be slime, but he's been in contact with Greyback a lot lately. I may not be able to guarantee your safety, should you stay any longer."

"One night, that's more than enough," Harry said, nodding in gratitude. Looking back up at Hendrick, Harry couldn't help narrowing his gaze as his face turned inquisitive. "If you don't mind my asking, but could I…examine you, sir?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's just…There's a very strange aura around you, _all_ of you actually, and it feels like _Sorcery_," Harry said, watching as Hendrick blinked in surprise.

After a moment of consideration, the Werewolf Alpha finally moved forward, stopping an arm's length from the teenager where he stood awkwardly, not sure what the boy wanted him to do. Reaching his hands out gently, Harry closed his eyes as he delved into the magic around him. He could feel Hendrick's aura much more clearly and he found it utterly fascinating. Though Hendrick himself had no magic (as he freely admitted to), Harry could nonetheless sense a very faint aura of magic emanating from him. The magic did indeed have a strong resemblance to Sorcery, so much so that Harry could only assume that it was once created _by_ Sorcery. But if that aura of magic was created by Sorcery and Hendrick was a converted Muggle, then that must mean that what he was sensing was…

"The Werewolf Curse," Harry muttered to himself, opening his eyes in surprise. Hendrick gazed down at Harry critically, questioningly. "I think…I think the Werewolf Curse was originally created by an ancient _Sorcerer_."

"How can you know that?" Hendrick demanded sharply, though more than a little curious. "No one knows where or how this curse came into being."

"Because there haven't been any Sorcerers for several centuries," Harry pointed out, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "I can _feel_ it. This is _definitely_ the work of a Sorcerer. But…maybe I can…"

Reaching forward both physically and metaphysically, he laid his hands upon Hendrick's chest, feeling out the Curse. Reaching into the Sorcery that was coating the man, he felt it out, 'seeing' just what its functions were and how they affected Hendrick as a person. For the most part, the Curse worked exactly as Harry assumed it would. A shapeshifting piece of magic that could transferred from one person to another. Extraordinarily heightened aggression, animalistic instincts and brutality, superhuman levels of strength, speed, and stamina, and a monstrous desire to kill and mangle all humans. As he was feeling it out, Harry came to a somewhat depressing realization. This Curse was so tightly wrapped around and merged with Hendrick's body, that to remove it utterly would most assuredly _end_ his life.

But as he began unfurling and examining the various 'layers', he come across something quite disturbing. Harry found that he could also faintly feel the original creator's desire for the Curse, what its original purpose had been. The Sorcerous creator's desire was for an everlasting army of monsters who followed and obeyed on his or her beck and call, to spread fear, chaos, and expand the Sorcerer's domain throughout the entire world, one cursed person at a time. And that desire was best revealed in a strong compulsion that twisted the mind of the person inflicted with the Curse. The compulsion instilled a loyalty and obedience to the creator alone. But since the creator was long dead, this compulsion had become deeply skewed, boosting the aggression levels of the victim to far beyond that of rational people. In effect, the Werewolves hunted, killed, and infected to not only obey their master, but in an irrational way of fulfilling his dying command.

It was this strong but mangled obedience compulsion that Harry 'grabbed' ahold of, clenching his physical fingers slightly into Hendrik's shirt. Then, with a mighty flex of his will and power, he wrenched it apart from the Curse, quite literally pulling a wreathing cloud of sinister black mist out of the Werewolf's body and mind. Holding the maleficent mist as far away from Hendrick and himself as he could, Harry released it and watched it as it dissipated into nothingness. The exertion of it sent Harry staggering away, gasping. But the shock of the magical trauma dropped Hendrick completely down to his knees on the floor, where he panted for a breath as though he'd just run a 26-mile marathon before he collapsed completely onto his side.

"Daddy!" Michael yelled from beyond the room. Rushing in, the six-year-old slammed his shoulder into Harry, toppling him over on his side and as far away from Hendrick as the boy could get him. After a short growl at him, Michael quickly turned back to his father, begging him to answer him and see if he was alright, how he'd taken care of the bully who'd hurt him and would do so again if he was still hurt. They were joined shortly by Maria, who dutifully hurried to her husband while shooting accusing glares at the recovering Harry.

"Calm…down," Hendrick gasped out, finally able to push himself up into a sitting position. Looking at Harry, who was seated in a similar position, he demanded, "What…did you…do?!"

"I…I removed the compulsion," Harry said.

"What compulsion?" Maria demanded, looking between Harry and Hendrick. "What's going on here?!"

"The Werewolf Curse was created by a Sorcerer," Harry explained. "In it, I found out what the Curse was _supposed_ to do."

"And what's…that?" Hendrick said, grasping his wife's hand reassuringly.

"It was meant to help the Sorcerer take over the world," Harry said simply, keeping his face serious and neutral as the Werewolf family stared at him disbelievingly. "The Sorcerer wanted a vast army of monsters, monsters who could spread their curse throughout all the lands, and who obeyed him and him alone. With _legions_ of such monsters under his control, the Sorcerer would, in effect, rule the world." Gesturing towards Hendrick, he finished, "I simply removed the compulsions of obedience and to spread the curse to others. Now, without that messing with your head, you _should_ be able to freely control the Curse now."

"What?!" all three Werewolves asked in varying levels of confusion and disbelief.

Finally regaining his strength enough to stand up to his feet, Hendrick immediately turned and headed outside. Harry just watched him go, content to sit upon the floor and await the Werewolf's return. With his Sorcery, Harry followed the family as they hurriedly ran out of the house, down the street and into the forest glade that was nestled next to their village. He could feel the magic in the air twist and change as the improbable occurred. And when a triumphant wolf howl echoed throughout the village, Harry couldn't repress the small smile of accomplishment that crossed his face.

'_Friday the 13__th_,' Harry thought. '_A long and sad history of __**bad**__ luck. But, perhaps, this could be one of the few __**good**__ things that has ever happened on it_.' And his small smile only widened when he sensed the approach of a familiar presence winging her way towards him. '_I hope Hedwig isn't mad at me for forgetting her back at Hogwarts… Yeah, she's definitely gonna be upset._'

It was the dawn of a new age for the Werewolves of the Alba Pack. The beginning of a fruitful alliance between those the Ministry of Magic scorned and hunted. And poor Harry wouldn't be getting _any_ rest this night.

* * *

><p><strong>October 14, 1995<br>Great Hall, Hogwarts**

It was a pensive Hall that Hermione and Ron came into that morning for breakfast. Conversation was vibrant but muted at the same time, the subject the same one it had been last night. It was a very uncomfortable situation that, in a sad way, both of them had grown used to over the past four years. Thus they didn't pay much attention as the various conversations momentarily were silenced as the speakers all glanced or glared at them as they past, as though they were personally at fault. Well, Hermione ignored them for the most part while Ron just shot the ones glaring at them a glare of his own.

Taking their seats, Hermione quickly began filling up her plate as she tried to focus on what she could accomplish this day. It was Saturday and although she'd already finished her homework, it never hurt to reread ahead and review her homework. Add in about an hour's worth of time to nag Ron and Ha— _Ron_ to do his own homework. Maybe, if she had the time and inclination, she could try piecing together the clues that Harry had left her on how to construct her own lightsaber. At that thought, Hermione reached up and lightly touched the small necklace she wore under her robes, her beautiful green gem hanging from it like a piece of highly exotic jewelry.

"You'd think they'd be _use_ to this stuff by _now_," Ron grumbled lowly next to her, hunched over his own plate as he began eating.

"Harry being an illegal Sorcerer, using an unknown weapon that helped his defeat twenty-six experienced Aurors, dismembering Professor Umbridge, knocking the Minister of Magic aside, and being expelled from school?" Hermione summarized quietly. "Those are pretty extreme circumstances. They'll be talking that for _decades_ to come, if not centuries. What I want to know is how the Ministry's going to handle this."

"I know," Ron said. "After everything that happened, that's not something you can just sweep under the rug."

A familiar flapping of wings drew the attention of the students as the morning post arrived. Hermione waited patiently for one of the owls to land near her to drop off the Daily Prophet. Dropping a few Knuts into its little pouch, she bade it farewell before grabbing the newspaper and starting to read.

_**DEVASTATING ATTACK AT HOGWARTS!  
><strong>__MINISTER OF MAGIC ISSUES FRANTIC SEARCH!_

_Yesterday evening, High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge uncovered evidence of illegal magic practices taking place in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Taking the matter to Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, the High Inquisitor and Minister rushed to Hogwarts with two dozen Aurors to put a stop to what was discovered. However, upon their arrival, they were immediately beseeched by Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, claiming that no such practices were being done and that he couldn't 'in good conscious' allow the Ministry to fully investigate the claims._

_That was when Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, attacked! Using a strange weapon he had somehow created, he was able to quickly and easily defeat all of the Aurors in less than a minute! During the battle, even High Inquisitor Umbridge was gravely injured, getting her right arm completely cut off by the boy's weapon! Even the Minister of Magic couldn't land a spell upon him due to the magic weapon the boy possessed. And what did Headmaster Dumbledore do when he saw one of his students so casually mocking the Ministry and its justice system? He let the boy go without a fight! How can this man be allowed to remain as the Headmaster?!_

_What was this weapon that the young Potter wielded? No one knows, but it was very much a sword of pure magical light, capable of repelling all manner of spells and curses with no difficulty at all. Although the Ministry scoured the school for hours, searching for clues to the weapon, even questioning Potter's closest associates, nothing has come to light in regards to this weapon, how it works, what it's made of, or where the boy got it. But what is known is that the weapon is __**highly **__dangerous, capable of cutting through solid rock with ease, deflecting spells that not even the most powerful of Shield Charms can, and is clearly made of highly Dark Magic. The Ministry knows this because when taken to St. Mungo's for treatment on her dismembered arm, the Healers were unable to heal, repair, or replace the High Inquisitor's severed arm! A weapon that can nullify even healing magic can only be the product of Dark Magic!_

_Due to his unwarranted attack, crippling of several Witches and Wizards, including the High Inquisitor herself, Harry Potter has been designated as the #01 Undesirable and is wanted for questioning and imprisonment for his acts against the Ministry of Magic._

_Though his whereabouts are presently unknown, the Ministry of Magic strongly cautions all Witches and Wizards who come across Harry Potter to immediately contact the Ministry of Magic and the Aurors. The boy is armed, unstable, and __**extremely**__ dangerous to all around him._

"How interesting," Hermione said, just barely managing to hold her temper in check.

"What?" Ron asked, glancing over at her. He hadn't stopped eating, just waited for her to read and explain to him the gist of what was written. Which was probably a very wise thing to do, she knew he would've likely lost his temper _very_ quickly.

"The Ministry is hiding the reasons why it tried to arrest Harry yesterday," Hermione said. "Nowhere is it mentioned that Harry is a Sorcerer. Sure, it goes into considerable detail about his lightsaber and how he defeated the Aurors, but that's it."

"Oh, of course there isn't," Ron said, earning a questioning glance from Hermione. "Fudge basically broke the law yesterday, and bungled it big-time. So he doesn't want it getting out, I'd guess."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Remember, Hermione," Ron said, a slight teasing gaze in his eyes. He was clearly enjoying being the one to explain things to _her_ for once. "Sorcery is one of the highest laws in the Statute of Secrecy. That means it was Fudge's _responsibility_ and _obligation_ to tell the ICW about Harry being a suspected Sorcerer. They have a Sorcerer-hunting law enforcement group dedicated to locating and arresting Sorcerers to preempt them from gaining too much power and skill. They are experienced against Sorcerers."

"And the common Auror likely isn't," Hermione said, quickly realizing what Ron was saying. "So probably Fudge must've wanted to gain the 'prestige' of capturing a Sorcerer, real or not, to help him reinforce his position politically. He didn't contact the ICW for help. And now that Harry escaped, he's going to try and cover it up for as long as he can until he can capture Harry for real this time."

"Exactly," Ron said. "I sent an owl to my parents last night, explaining everything that happened. They should've written to the Daily Prophet or even contacted the ICW by now to expose the truth."

"Not likely, little brother," Fred (or was it George?) said as the twins took up seats across from the pair.

"We heard Fudge telling one of the Aurors to block all outgoing owls," said the other twin, his face quite grim with barely hidden anger behind his eyes.

"So no one knows what really happened here, except for those that actually _saw_ it."

"And it'll probably stay that way for the rest of the year."

"But on the plus side, at least Harry was able to get rid of Umbridge."

"I doubt she'll be back any time soon."

No sooner had those words left the twin's mouth than did the Great Hall begin to fall silent as heads began turning towards the entrance. Interested in what had drawn the attentions of the others so easily, the brothers and Hermione all turned and stood up slightly to peek over the heads of others. There, marching through the doors up towards the Professors' table quite proudly, was Dolores Umbridge. Her right arm was wrapped up in a cast and hung from a shoulder-sling, showing off the fact that she was so grievously wounded that evening prior.

"What is _she_ doing here?!" Ron hissed lowly.

"I think we're about to find out," Hermione answered, watching as Umbridge walked past them and came to a stop in front of the Professors, specifically Headmaster Dumbledore, who had risen to his feet.

"Professor Umbridge, I'm pleased to see that you—"

"Spare me your pleasantries, Dumbledore," Umbridge interrupted. Awkwardly reaching into her robes with her left hand, she pulled out a long roll of parchment and handed it to the Headmaster. Though her back was to the student-body, there was little doubt in any of their minds that she was sneering in triumph. "AlbusPercival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, you have been hereby relinquished of duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts, effective immediately by the unanimous decision of the Board of Governors, to be replaced by me, Dolores Jane Umbridge."

There was a long moment of silence that hung heavily over the entire Great Hall. No one would ever truly know who did it first, but in the end it didn't truly matter. In next to no time, the entire body of Hogwarts students all climbed to their feet and cried out unanimous shouts of denial, anger, and disgust towards the newly-minted Headmistress Umbridge, even the Slytherins.

* * *

><p><strong>October 16, 1995<br>Diagon Alley, London**

Remus Lupin was casually seated outside one of the restaurants, watching the magical shopping alley as he idly finished his meal. As always, Diagon Alley was filled with customers and vendors. The different shops buzzed with activity and the shoppers entered and exited with constant frequency. The Werewolf had wanted to check out the mood of the alley, following the spectacular fallout that was occurring since Harry's forced departure from Hogwarts. Suffice to say, that there was an air of frightened energy coursing through the people. Hushed conversations and inflated rumors about all the terrible things that Harry had reportedly done since entering the Wizarding World seemed to be the favorite subject of the people for the past few days.

It was as he was watching the passing shoppers for signs of known Death Eaters or their sympathizers when he spotted her. She approached him pointedly, which wasn't that surprising.

"Charisa," he said in greeting.

"Lupin," she replied.

"It's been a while."

"Six years," the woman agreed. "Since the last time you deigned to visit our pack. But you managed to become a Hogwarts professor – at least until your true nature came out."

Remus considered the woman. Charisa became a Werewolf at fifteen and was shortly thereafter thrown out of her parents' house. The teenage witch had been a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts and had just finished her OWLS when her life changed. She was taken into a pack shortly thereafter and developed a potent hatred towards the 'normals' for the rejection of her friends and family after her infection. She'd been shocked to learn the older Gryffindor that had just finished Hogwarts had been a werewolf his entire time at Hogwarts. Remus suggested she talk to Dumbledore about completing her schooling but she declined. The packs were leaning toward the Dark Lord and she refused to turn her back on the only ones to take her in and help. Besides, unlike Remus, her family made her infection public and even Dumbledore couldn't get a known werewolf included in the student body.

The last Remus had seen the woman she'd become the second to the Alpha Female of the Welsh pack. One of the five Packs of Albion, the Glyndwr pack claimed the forests of Wales as their hunting grounds. It was the largest pack and only Fenrir Greyback's pack in southern England had more sway across all the packs of Britain and Ireland.

"And to what do I owe this honor of you and your friends visit?" Remus asked as he indicated the three male werewolves behind her with a nod.

"A fortuitous event," Charisa answered. "The community needed some potions supplies and I had little choice but to come here." Remus could hear the disgust in her voice at the thought of mingling with 'normal' witches and wizards. "But when I saw you, I wanted to pass on word. There is to be a Gathering. Greyback seeks to unite the packs under his leadership once again. But you know the Pack Laws – everyone will have a voice and anyone that does not attend will be exempt from the Pack Law until the next Gathering. You must attend."

Remus sighed resignedly. He'd already been keeping in fairly close contact with the Werewolves since Voldemort's resurrection. Greyback may be many terrible things, his persistence was definitely one of his 'better' points of character. The bloodthirsty Werewolf wouldn't stop until he'd achieved his mission from the Dark Lord in reuniting all the Packs back under Voldemort's control once again. Greyback was positively relentless in his obvious quest. Thankfully for Remus's peace of mind, a lot of the Werewolves had grown somewhat accustomed to the peaceful life in these past few years and were rather reluctant to let them go.

The female werewolf's expression changed slightly to one of reluctant curiosity. "There's something else going on. The Alba Pack called for a Gathering of their own, but Hendrick made it quite clear it was about an issue that was completely unrelated to the Dark Lord."

"And what would that be?" Remus asked, suddenly rather interested.

"We don't know," Charisa admitted, looking both sheepish and disappointed. "Hendrick only said that it would completely change the lives of all Werewolves in the world."

The Alba Pack of Northumberland was one of the smaller packs and wielded the least amount of 'political clout'. Though none of other Werewolf Packs would ever say so, for fear of inciting a savage civil war between them, the Alba Pack was generally seen as the weakest and least ambitious since the Alphas rarely ever wanted to invite confrontations and to challenge the authority of the Ministry of Magic who so oppressively controlled their lives. For them to suddenly call for a Gathering, then something of great importance most definitely must've happened.

Charisa looked back at Remus. "I hope to see you there, Lupin." A small, flirtatious smile crossed her lips. "Maybe we will have the opportunity to discuss old times." Without another word she turned and continued down the alley, her escorts taking positions to her rear and flanks without a word.

"Oh, I'll be there," Remus promised himself. '_Something that could change all our lives? What could that __**possibly**__ be?_'

* * *

><p><strong>October 17, 1995<br>Circle-of-Stones, England**

The meeting about to take place was located in a small valley filled with a light forest. Standing almost dead-center in the valley was a circular clearing that was less than a football field in diameter. And in the center of that stood what looked like to Harry almost a replica of Stonehenge, though nowhere near as degraded, weather-beaten, or in a state of ruins. This Circle-of-Stones, as Hendrick had called it, was of great importance to the Werewolf Packs of Great Britain.

Ahead of them Harry could hear a number of people talking and laughing. An enhanced sense of smell was not required to smell the wood smoke coming from the large bonfire that was burning. The clearing was dominated by the huge bonfire filling the center of the stone circle. It was at least three meters high and the fire blazed brightly. Harry wondered if it was a magical fire or petrol-fuelled, it burned so bright and hot. The perimeter of the clearing was lit by torches on long poles. Clustered near some of the torches were heavily-laden tables filled with food; mostly meats of various types. Harry could easily detect the scents of beef, venison, and pork. Smaller campfires with logs for benches were located not too far from these tables.

But the most remarkable thing was the people to be found within that clearing. Harry reckoned there were close to 500 people standing, dancing, and talking around the fires and tables. Harry was slightly surprised to see that roughly half of them were women. Most of the crowd wore the rougher clothing of outdoorsmen, but he spotted a few in more traditional kilts and others dressed in Muggle biker jeans and leathers. Not a sign of fine clothing or court shoes in sight, which was a huge relief to Harry. This was about as informal as it could get.

"Come along, boy," Hendrick said, keeping his large hand latched onto Harry's shoulder to keep the boy from getting pulled or drawn away from him. "The meeting is about to start."

"Right," Harry mumbled, still taking in the sights with an air of appreciation. Despite how much he was sure their lives were troubling and unhappy, these people didn't seem to let it get the better of them. From most of them, he could sense a rather surprising amount of acceptance. This was the only type of life they were allowed to live, and thus most of them would just take it if it meant they could be left in peace.

"Remember, Harry," Hendrick said, keeping a watchful gaze at the many different Werewolves that were around them. "You are here as a guest. Do not speak unless spoken to, unless you have a death-wish."

"I can take care of myself," Harry said, admittedly somewhat childishly. Seeing his Werewolf guardian's sharp glare, he quickly added, "I'll keep that in mind, I promise."

"…Good," Hendrick growled. A second later, a loud horn sounded, causing much of the partying, eating, and conversations to die out around them as all of the gathered Dark Creatures turned towards the center of the clearing.

"COME!" a voice boomed out. "COME NOW TO DEAL WITH HOW WE CAN SUPPORT THE ONLY WIZARD THAT CAN GIVE US OUR TRUE POWER!"

Through the crowd Harry could see a huge, grizzled looking man in rough, dirty clothing. Even from a distance Harry could see the sickly yellow eyes and he could sense the madness inside of them. Fenrir Greyback had arrived at the Gathering.

Following in Hendrick's shadow and staying as out of sight as he could with the three other Alba Werewolves who were accompanying them, Harry joined them near the fire's edge. He was standing at the back of the group, but could easily hear and see everything ahead of him. And, if he so desired, Harry could step out in front of them in just a few paces. With the massive flames of the bonfire as a dramatic backdrop, the five different Alphas gathered around a large circular stone table. The stone was at just the right size to accommodate the five Werewolf Alphas, their Betas, and a pair of bodyguards, and still have enough room to be comfortable.

"Speak, Alpha Fenrir," one of the Werewolves said in a formal tone.

"The greatest Dark Lord in history has returned to our shores! The Dark Lord plans to drive the weak, corrupt Wizengamot and Ministry from power and replace it with a government for the strong! With the Packs' combined might, we can assist in this great effort! In return the Dark Lord has sworn to offer us the choicest 'recruits' for the Packs! Further, he promises to set aside a great reserve for each Pack to rule and hunt as their own! The bloody Ministry laws that keep us down will be struck down! Any werewolf would be equal to any pureblood wizard!"

"All the Dark Lord asks is that we support him in this campaign. We would strike at remote villages – take the strongest for the Packs and destroy the rest. The Ministry will waste their strength trying to protect everyone while we gain strength with each raid. Then once Dumbledore and the Ministry is humbled we would help control the population until the prey is settled to their new yoke."

"Now this Gathering must decide to support the Dark Lord in his endeavor! Failure to do so will risk the Packs destruction! The Dark Lord does not forget his friends and his enemies do not live long enough to be forgotten! DECIDE NOW!"

Greyback looked like he was about to continue with his rant, but Hendrick slammed one of his hands down on the stone. The blow was hard enough to jostle the entire structure for a few moments, surprising all of the Alphas and thankfully silencing Greyback, though not for long as his narrowed gaze immediately suggested.

"We have heard your pleas time and again, Greyback," Hendrick growled. "Your obsession with this Dark Lord is neither charming nor objective to the safety and security of our people."

"And what would you have us do, Hendrick?" Greyback snapped. "Cower in our homes whenever the Ministry comes to raid, brand, and bully us like sheep for the slaughter?! You are a disgrace to all Werewolves!" Even without his Sorcery, Harry could've felt the tension multiply by several magnitudes at Greyback's blunt and open insult.

But rather than take the insult to heart, Hendrick turned and looked at the other three Alphas. "Rather than waste our time discussing a subject we've already decided on months ago, I wish to bring up a new topic. One I'm sure all of you have been wondering about."

"Yes," one of the Alphas drawled out. This Werewolf was dressed as a woodsman with a flannel shirt and overalls. "This 'revelation' that will change our lives forever. What does that _mean_, Alba?"

"I have recently made the acquaintance of a truly singular young man," Hendrick stated. "He came my village, asking for a simple meal before he'd be on his way. But, during the course of our conversation, he became interested in my Curse and wished to examine it for himself."

"And what is so groundbreaking about that?!" Greyback demanded, very impatient and angry at having his thunder stolen by the otherwise isolated Alpha. "Thousands of Wizards have tried to analyze and cure or remove the Gift for centuries!"

"It turns out, this boy possessed a magical talent that is extremely rare in the Wizarding World," Hendrick continued, ignoring Greyback as he kept his focus on the other Alphas. "As a former Muggle myself, I don't pretend the understand the implications of just what it is he can do that makes him such a danger to them, but the fact remains that he has learned a branch of forbidden magic. And through this magic, he was able to…cleanse me and my Pack."

"What?!" the other Alphas, even Greyback, demanded.

"Cleanse? What do you mean?"

"Who is this 'boy'?!" Greyback snarled, before he tried glancing around Hendrick's large profile. "Is he that boy with the weird _smell_ standing behind you?"

"Indeed," Hendrick acknowledged with a nod, gesturing over his shoulder for Harry to approach. Moving cautiously forward, one hand on each of his weapons, Harry slipped into the firelight to become visible. Thanks in large part to his hair, he wasn't immediately recognized due to his curse scar being hidden from sight and the fact that he no longer needed or wore his glasses anymore. "Tell them, boy."

"I am a Sorcerer," Harry said, watching as the other Alphas all flinched backwards reflexively at the revelation for a second before regaining control of themselves.

"_**WHAT IS THIS?!**_" Greyback hollered, immediately jumping to his feet. "A _SORCERER?!_ _You!_ You're no _Sorcerer!_ Sorcerers are only the _mightiest_ and _darkest_ of all Wizards in _existence! NO MERE __**BOY**__ COULD __**POSSIBLY**__ BE A—_" He was abruptly silenced, hands raising and clasping his neck as his windpipe was suddenly pinched shut.

"You really like to yell, don't you?" Harry asked, his hand held up and extended towards Greyback, his fingers pinched as though he were physically holding the Werewolf's throat shut. This passive demonstration of a power that no Werewolf had ever seen a Wizard use quickly convinced the other Alphas that Harry was indeed what he claimed to be. Glancing around the stone table, Harry saw that all of them (especially Greyback's following) were on edge, ready to lunge for his throat or flee for the forest, whichever was necessary depending on what he did next.

Looking back at the choking Greyback who was quickly starting to purple, he said, "Now why don't you let me and…Alpha Hendrick finish our story?" With that said, he released Greyback, causing him to collapse to the table's surface, heaving for breath.

"Is it safe to assume that that wasn't even a fraction of your power, boy?" one of the Alphas asked. This Alpha was dressed like biker, all leather clothing with some colorful and rather inappropriate tattoos for civilized society.

"Yes," Harry said, nodding, watching as Greyback slowly pushed himself off the table and shot him a hateful but fearful glare. "As I was saying, I am a Sorcerer. And when I met Hendrick here, I could feel the Werewolf Curse on him. It interested me because I'd never felt anything like it, so I asked him to let me study it. And through that, I learned what makes it a Curse."

"And that is…?" the Woodsman Alpha asked, quite interested.

"The Curse was originally created by an ancient Sorcerer," Harry said. "That is why no Witch or Wizard have ever been able to get rid of it. Because they don't access to the knowledge and insights that Sorcery can provide. Anyway, the Curse is a very complex combination of several Charms, Jinxes, and…_compulsions_. Like the compulsion of obedience towards the Curse's creator. But because the creator is long dead, the Curse no longer has a purpose, causing all of those inflicted with it to lash out at the creator's enemies, which were all of humanity."

"The boy was able to remove those compulsions from my Pack," Hendrick said, once again regaining the attentions of the Alphas. "Once he did that, it was like a vast, dark cloud had suddenly been lifted from our minds. We could control ourselves. We could…change ourselves, whenever we desired to! Our Curse is gone!"

Before the other Alphas could object or question such claims, the two guards who stood protectively behind Harry and Hendrick suddenly changed. The entire process of transforming from human to Werewolf could take several minutes for a _normal_ Werewolf, and was usually a very painful process to experience. But the two guards' transformations seemed to shift and flow from them like running water and less than a few seconds were fully transformed into their wolf forms. This predictably had all of the Alphas and the gathered crowd on onlookers recoiling in shock, cries of surprise shrieking out from many of them. To silence the rising din, the two Werewolves leapt up onto two of the larger stone columns and let out loud howls that echoed off into the distance, quickly silencing the crowd as they all gawked at what they were seeing.

Once the din had settled somewhat, Hendrick continued, "As you can see, this isn't just some fantasy. It is _real_. And the boy has agreed to perform this on every one of us."

"Only if they're willing," Harry quickly added. "This is a choice for the _individual_ to make…Although, I do _strongly_ recommend all of you to take it."

"So, _that's_ your game!" Greyback barked, shooting to his feet once again. "You wish to subservient us to your will by 'removing' our Curse? And I suppose that then you'll start asking for 'little favors' from us to repay this act of kindness, right?!"

"Why would I do that?" Harry asked, quite confused.

"Why do you think, boy?!" Greyback shot back. "You want to make us the cannon-fodder for your army and then leave us to rot once you've taken over! Well, _my_ Pack will not have _any_ of it!"

"You really are loyal as a dog, aren't you?" Harry asked, staring at the Werewolf in disgust. "What you claim is exactly what your beloved master will do to you and yours without a second's hesitation."

"_LIES!_" Greyback hissed furious. "And you're not even bother trying to deny that you would either!"

"Because I know you won't believe me even if I say I won't," Harry countered. In response, Greyback let out a loud snarl as he stood up and stormed off, leaving the Gathering utterly. Much to Harry's secret relief, the near-feral Werewolf's bodyguards kept looking back constantly, yearningly. They wanted to get rid of their Curse, or at least control it, as much as anyone would've. That was good news; they'd bring what they'd learned back with them to their Pack.

Turning back to the other Werewolf Alphas, he said, "While I do not claim to understand much about your Packs or your people, I think I do understand that you live under the Ministry of Magic's control with no say in what you can or can't do. But what is the Ministry's control over you truly about?"

Seeing that the Alphas were listening to him, he continued, "It's that they rightfully fear that you can't control yourselves in the light of the moon. They don't want Werewolves to expose their little Garden of Eden to the Muggles. But if you could control yourselves, you'd take away their power and justification to imprison you. And wouldn't that be worth it, all on its own?"

That question caused the Alphas to all chuckle in response.

"But perhaps the better question is this: I'm offering you a chance to change your lives, to learn how to control your Curses. Can you really pass that up?"

There was a short, contemplative silence as the Alphas carefully thought over everything they'd seen, heard, and learned. Then Alpha Biker looked up and asked, "Perhaps a demonstration of your power? Just to prove to us that what you've shown is actually what you claim it is."

"Of course," Harry agreed, nodding in acceptance. "I'll happily do any volunteers, from any of your Packs."

Immediately, several Werewolves moved forward from the crowd. Some of them were staring at him with open yearning and restrained hope. Others were glaring with suspicion as obvious in their eyes as it was in their postures. And yet others just watched him with neutral expressions on their faces, though that still failed to hide their emotions from his Sorcery. Taking a few steps away from the stone table, Harry gestured a young girl who couldn't have been more than seven to come before him.

Ignoring her suspicious glare, Harry stepped up to her as he said, "This will leave you tired and weak for a few minutes. I recommend you take a seat, so you don't fall over when I'm done."

"I'm not kneeling before you!" the girl growled out with a vicious, challenging glare.

Unperturbed, Harry just shrugged as he placed one hand upon her chest and the other on her forehead, "Very well then." Taking just a moment to gather his concentration and connect with the Curse, he wasted no time in seizing hold of it and pulling out the corrupted parts of it from her. As the black mass was extracted, the girl let out a pained and surprised gasp, staggering back a few steps before collapsing to the ground in a graceless heap.

The surrounding crowd of onlookers all stared, gasped, cried out, and all manner of the forms of expression as Harry held up the churning blackness for all to see for the precious few seconds that it could exist before it dispersed on its own. The crowd was cycling through a wide and wild kaleidoscope of emotions, though confusion, fear, hope, and astonishment were among the most common. Harry watched for a moment as the girl's aura fluctuated wildly for a few seconds before it settled down and the girl's body began to recover almost immediately. He smiled slightly as she quickly found the strength to push herself up off the ground, and knocking back her worried parents and neighbors as they tried to verify that she was alright.

Turning to one of the other Werewolves, he called out, "Next?"

"I'll go next," a familiar voice spoke up from behind Harry, causing the boy to jump slightly in surprise.

"Remus? What are you doing here?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking.

"A better question would be: what are _you_ doing here?" Remus demanded, glaring as he waited impatiently for the boy to explain. "Shouldn't you be in _Hogwarts?!_"

"I'll…I'll tell you later," Harry managed to get out as an irrational nervousness overtook him in the presence of his former professor.

Thankfully, a few seconds later, a familiar shift in the magic told him the obvious as the girl immediately began transforming into her wolf-form, for the first time in her life, of her own accord. The small Werewolf let out excited yips and barks as she pranced and jumped about, drawing the jealousy and astonishment of the crowd in the process. Watching as the little wolf enjoyed herself, Harry's small smile returned with greater force. If he was reading the situation right, then those who were born with the Curse were excited to be able to control a part of their 'personalities' that they've never been able to before. And those who were bitten and forcefully converted into Werewolves were happy and relieved beyond mere words because their seeming eternal nightmare was finally coming to an end.

But then he set his jaw and prepared for what was obviously going to be a very long night. After all, he had on the upwards of 500 Werewolves to 'work his magic on' before they'd likely let him go.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) To answer the question that some of you haven't seemed to have gotten, I was inspired by 'The Force Unleashed II: Launch Trailer' for the fight scene of the previous chapter.

**PS**: To any aspiring artists (preferably someone with some talent and experience), I hope I could commission a fanart picture for this story. If anyone's interested, or if you know someone who you think could do it, please PM me (Subject: Fanart Picture). Thank you!


	8. Trials of Spirit and Body

**The Lightsaber  
><strong>By: Tellemicus Sundance  
><em>#08: Trials of Spirit and Body<em>

**October 22, 1996  
>Godric's Hollow<strong>

"_I want to go to Godric's Hollow_."

That simple statement that had been uttered at the first rays of dawn had been what sealed his fate. It had been almost a week since the Gathering. In that time, Harry had met and cleansed each of the Werewolf Packs that desired to be so, which were nearly all of them. All totaled, Harry must've done the process on more than a thousand of Werewolves, nearly the entirety of all the Packs in Great Britain. Apparently, despite the Gathering being recognized as an official 'government' of sorts for the Packs, by the Packs, it wasn't an altogether welcomed practice. Too many wolves gathered in one place could stir the aggressions of many of the rival fighters, provoking fights and brawls that could easily escalate to something far more than was warranted. Thus, while the rogues and lone wolves _had_ to attend the Gatherings, lest they be considered feral and dangerous, the common folk of the Packs were largely exempt unless they desired to join in the festivities. So, when the cleansed Werewolves rushed back to their Packs and homes to spread the news, many more began to flood into Circle-of-Stones in a very short amount of time.

Needless to say, it was a long, repetitive process for Harry that left him utterly exhausted, despite even his Sorcery-augmented stamina.

But during that time and between the occasional 15-minute breaks he allowed himself, Harry met each of the Werewolves in person. If he wasn't mistaken, he had already earned himself a hero-status among them and a new nickname. He would forever be known as 'The Cleanser' and possibly the first real hero that they'd ever had. Harry just took it all with as much grace as he could muster, trying to keep himself as objective as possible. Much to Harry's private amusement, he even noticed that there were a lot of members of Greyback's Pack in line as well. It seemed that the promise of a cure had caused the near-feral wolf to lose a _lot_ of support very quickly even in his own _former_ Pack. Only the truly diehard fanatics remained with him to follow Voldemort, according to the Greyback Pack deserters. The deserters were quickly welcomed into the different Packs with open arms and promises of support and safety. Even the Alba Pack numbers were hugely augmented by the influx of new members by at least a good hundred or more.

And it was during those short 15-minute breaks that Harry was able to talk with Remus. It seemed that the lone Werewolf had been out of touch with the Order of the Phoenix and the general Wizarding community as a whole for several weeks. As such, he hadn't heard any of the recent news concerning Fudge, Umbridge, Hogwarts, or himself being a Sorcerer. Thankfully, after he calmed down from his initial panic attack and took a long, hard evaluation of Harry's personality and current deeds, Remus ultimately decided that Harry hadn't (yet!) been corrupted by the power he wielded. So, there was still time to convert him back to being a Wizard, still time to watch for the warning signs that he'd no doubt be paying extra close attention for from now on.

And all that led to this very moment. After waking up before dawn and going for a light 10-kilometer run to stretch out his muscles, Harry helped himself to some breakfast with Remus and other early-risers. He had been thinking about everything that he had done in the past few days and everything he hoped to do in the near-future. Harry realized that if he ever truly wanted to move on to his future, he'd have to confront that one glaring wound in his past that he hasn't yet been able to.

And that is what led to him and Remus both entering the village of Godric's Hollow so early in the morning.

He was about to go home, to return to the place where he had had a family. And that was in Godric's Hollow where, had it not been for Voldemort, that he would've grown up and spent every school holiday. He could have invited friends to his house. He might even have had brothers and sisters. It would have been his mother who had made his birthday cakes. The life he had lost had hardly ever seemed so real to him as at this moment, when he knew he was about to see the place where it had been taken from him.

Visiting his parents' graves had been a thoroughly depressing experience for Harry. Even with Remus guiding him to them, he was still able to catch glimpses of many different but familiar names in the same area. However, the one name that really stood out to him was 'Dumbledore'. One of the Headmaster's own family was buried in the same graveyard as Harry's family, even Remus verified this assumption as soon as he saw what had stopped Harry in his tracks.

Harry had sensed its presence long before it came into sight for him. There was something…powerful in the air. If not for Sorcery, Harry would've just assumed it was the shattered ruins of the various Charms and protections that had been felled when Voldemort destroyed it. But now he knew better. This…aura in the air was filled with darkness, death, and…sadness. It was a truly profound feeling that touched Harry very deeply as he stared up at the blown open cottage without seeing with his physical eyes.

The hedge had grown wild in the fourteen years since Hagrid had taken Harry from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and fallen leaves of autumn. But the right side of the top floor had been blown apart. That, Harry was sure, was where the Killing Curse that Voldemort attempted to use on him had backfired. He and Remus stood at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

After a long moment of silence between them, Harry stepped forward and grasped the rusted gate. He didn't try to open it, simply wanting to hold some part of the house.

"You're not going to go inside?" Remus asked, watching Harry with a neutral expression.

"I am," Harry said lowly. "There's something…strange here. I sense a lot of twisted and heavy magic wrapped up around this place. It feels dark and…sad."

"Might be echoes of what happened here all those years ago," Remus remarked, looking up at the cottage again with a new and inquisitive stare. Shaking his head, he moved forward to stand next to Harry, "Well then, let's get in there, Harry."

"No, I want to go alone," Harry said. Feeling Remus's gaze on his shoulders, he turned and looked the older man in eye with a pleading but determined gaze. "Please. This is something I _have_ to do on my own."

Staring at Harry for several long moments as indecision warred within him, Remus finally let out a low sigh. "You're not alone, Harry. Not anymore. Don't forget that." With that said, he stepped back to watch and wait.

Turning back to the cottage, Harry finally pushed the gate open, ignoring the rusted metal that squeaked loudly under the movement. The journey to the front door was quiet, but very tense for Harry. The tension was at an all-time high as he reached forward and grasped the rusted doorknob, which squeaked and groaned loudly in protest at the movement of opening. A strange feeling shivered through him as he passed across the threshold, the door closing shut behind him in a loud but somehow muted slam. But Harry's mind was elsewhere as he tried understand just what he was feeling. It was like someone had reached across universes to touch him. Unable to stop himself, he reached up to where his scar was prickling into his forehead like a thousand burning needles.

Suddenly…

_The night was wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square, and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe… And he was gliding along, that sense of purpose, power, and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions… Not anger, that was for weaker souls than he… but triumph, yes… He waited for this, he had hoped for it…_

"_Nice costume, mister!"_

_He saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his painted face. Then the child turned and ran away… Beneath the robe, he fingered the handle of his wand… One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother…but unnecessary, quite unnecessary…_

_And along a new and darker street he moved. Now his destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know yet… And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and stared over it…_

_They had not drawn the curtains. He saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man in his glasses, making puffs of colored smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist…_

_A door opened and the mother entered, saying words he could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now the father scooped up the son and handed him to the mother. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning…_

_The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. His white hand pulled the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy. He had not even picked up his wand…_

"_Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"_

_Hold him off, without a wand in his hand! He laughed before casting the curse. "Avada Kedavra!"_

_The green light filled the cramped hallway. It lit the pram pushed against the wall. It made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut…_

_He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear… He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in… She had no wand upon her either… How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments…_

_He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand…and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead…_

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

"_Stand aside, you silly girl… Stand aside, now."_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—"_

"_This is my last warning—"_

"_Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"_

"_Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all…_

_The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest. Perhaps the boy was thinking it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing—_

_He pointed his wand very carefully into the boy's face. He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry. It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying. He had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage— "Avada Kedavra!"_

_And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror. He must hide himself! Not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped and screaming, but far away…far away…_

"No," he moaned.

_He was inside a locked chest, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but wait. So he waited, watching as that __**disgusting**__ creature made its regular visits to him, glaring and cursing at him under its breath continuously. Oh, __**if only**__ he had his wand…_

"No," he moaned.

_The snake rustled on the fine carpet, next to its master and soulmate. Enjoying the light rubs upon its head that its master administered to her. There was a bright, large fire that burned nearby, filling the room with a comforting warmth…_

"NO!" Harry yelled, finally collecting himself and wrenching himself from the visions he was trapped in. Blinking, he found himself standing, frozen, staring at the very spot where the body of his father had fallen when Voldemort arrived on the scene. The body was of course long gone, buried next to his wife in the cemetery. Unnoticed by him, tears were streaming down his cheeks and dripping to the floorboards below him.

What was that that he had just seen? A long repressed memory of his baby-years? A memory fragment from Voldemort that had reached him through their shared bond? Why had he been the Dark Lord to begin with?!

Taking his hand away from where it had been previously been clutching his scar, Harry just stared at the large smear of blood that coated his palm as it came away. This was something he had gotten use to a long time ago, so he paid the blood and his bleeding scar no mind. Instead, other questions began to race through his mind. What was that thing he had been? That which was locked away inside a chest? And why was Kreacher there, angry at whatever it was?

"So, you've finally come," a silky and terribly familiar voice spoke up. Harry's head instantly snapped up as he spotted Lord Voldemort come striding into the room, seeming to glide across the floor without actually touching it. "I was wondering when you'd grace me with your presence, Harry Potter."

"Voldemort," Harry hissed back, automatically grabbing his lightsaber and holding it up in preparation for the fight that was to come. But when he pushed the ignition button, the blade didn't spring to life as it always had before. "What the?!"

"Did you really think a fancy light stick would be enough to defeat me?" Voldemort asked snidely, sneering in triumph as he watched Harry struggle to ignite his beloved weapon.

But as Harry's frustrations mounted, he began applying too much strength and power, causing the emitter shroud to snap and separate from the hilt. This damage would take weeks of careful transfiguration, repair charms, and realignment to get back into working condition! Dropping his broken weapon, Harry withdrew his wand. But Voldemort merely swatted it from his hand with one casual flick of his own, sending it flying into the former sitting room and disappearing among the debris strewn about.

"I don't need my lightsaber or wand to destroy you!" Harry yelled angrily, thrusting both his hands forward. But no blast of power was released. Voldemort just continued to sneer at him, cackling slightly in conceit. "No, my Sorcery! What's wrong?! What's going on?!"

"Apparently, someone's not quite as skilled or powerful as they thought they were," Voldemort gloated, reveling in Harry's mounting fear and rage. "Time to die!"

"No, this isn't real," Harry said, fumbling for an explanation to these logic-defying mishaps he just happened to encounter. "What is this? Some kind of illusion?! Why? About what?!"

"Keep telling yourself, boy," Voldemort said, raising his wand in preparation of once again recasting the spell he'd been yearning to cast for more than fourteen years. "It'll make your demise that much more satisfying."

"My parents dying?" Harry was saying, more to himself than he was trying to listen to Voldemort. "That's the reason I came here! To put my past behind me! My lightsaber breaking? Maybe my fear of growing too dependent on it? Losing my wand? Happens all the time! My Sorcery not working? I've lived most of my life without it! I don't need my Sorcery to do great things!"

"Are those going to be your last words?" Voldemort demanded, torn between amusement and annoyance at Harry's continued ignoring him. "Feeble excuses to justify your worthlessness?"

Finding the courage that had long driven him to move forward, even when he faced seemingly hopeless odds, Harry looked up and stared right into Voldemort's red and unblinking eyes. "I'm not afraid of you. You're just a figment of my imagination. A memory." Standing up straight as he faced the Dark Lord, he finished saying, "Go back to where you belong."

Snarling, the Dark Lord jabbed his wand forward. "Avada Kedavra!" The deadly green beam raced at Harry, who stood in place and glared at Voldemort unflinchingly. Then the beam passed right through him, vanishing the moment it exited his backside, along with the phantom that was Voldemort.

Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Harry blinked and looked around. The room was largely unchanged. Reaching for his belt, he found his wand and lightsaber both still strapped there, unbroken and whole as they had been prior to him entering this cottage. Sighing in heavy relief, Harry suddenly found his Sorcery senses once again flowing with the constant influx of information he'd long since grown accustomed to. He hadn't realized it until just now, but his Sorcery had all but vanished as soon as he'd entered. But now that the visions seemed to be over at long last, Harry found that the aura of the cottage had changed. It was no longer flowing with darkness and sadness…just an air of serene acceptance. The magic in the air had finally done the job it had been 'desiring' to do for more than a decade and now it was gone.

As he was starting to turn around to leave, a faint tickling at the edge of his senses stopped him. Turning back to where he could feel it coming from, Harry moved cautiously through the house, careful not to step on any floor boards that looked unstable or rotted. Entering what seemed to be an office, Harry looked around the room for a moment before he zeroed in on the desk. There was something…waiting in that desk.

Taking a seat in the creaking chair that was next to the desk, Harry gingerly began opening the various drawers. Most of whatever had been inside the drawers had been shredded by vermin over the years, or taken by looters. But as he was shuffling through the leaflets that remained of several books, his fingers scraped across something smooth and metallic. Digging in deeper, he grabbed and withdrew that metallic object he'd found.

Holding it up in the faint light, Harry gazed in curiosity and awe at what he held. It was a small cube, barely the size of an apple. The edges and corners of the cube were lined with gold and, if not for the years of neglect, would undoubtedly have been shining. It was the center of the cube that really caught his attention. It was quite clear that the gold corners were little more than a casing for the faintly glowing crystal sphere that was encased within. The center of the crystal was lit by a faint spark of blue-white light. The light seemed to ripple outwards from that spark, filling the sphere with little pulses and waves that faded gradually as they neared the edges of the crystal's surface. But it was that spark that really drew his attention. It pulsed faintly with an energy that was akin to that of the Werewolves he'd met, Sorcery that had been warped and changed into something else.

In all, it was a truly beautiful object, but one unlike anything Harry had ever seen or heard of.

"What are you?" he couldn't help whispering in awe. When he predictably didn't receive an answer, Harry slipped it into his pocket for later examination and experimentation.

Returning back to Remus, Harry found the man leaning upon the fence with his side, clearly quite patiently as he waited for the boy to return. Hearing the boy approach, the former Werewolf turned and stared with concern and curiosity at Harry. Seeing something strange in his expression or posture or maybe the smeared blood on his forehead, Remus asked, "How do you feel?"

"Different, but the same," Harry said, not really sure how to fluently describe just what he felt after experiencing such strange visions.

"What happened in there? You were gone for almost a half hour."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. If sure felt a lot longer than that. "Well, the short version is that I saw how my parents died."

"You okay?" the older man asked, immediately concerned.

"I'm fine," Harry said. "It's…nice to finally have closure with that." After a long moment, Remus finally nodded in agreement. As he did, Harry dug into his pocket and pulled out the gold and crystal trinket he'd found. "Found this. Do you know what it is?"

"Well, I'll be…" Remus uttered in surprise as he stared down at the cube. "It was still here? I'd have thought the Ministry would've found and confiscated that long before now."

"What is it?" Harry repeated, somewhat impatiently.

"Your father became something of a collector of rare or obscure magical artifacts towards the end," Remus answered. "And this was his pride and joy. I don't know where he got it or found it, but he told me that this is one of the few true crystal balls of the ancients."

"Crystal balls?" Harry asked surprised, staring at the cube much more closely. Now that he knew what to look for, he could indeed see the curved edges of the crystal sliding inwards from the gold corners. "You mean like they use in Divination? Ron showed me the one he used once, but it didn't look anything like this."

"Of course not, Harry," Remus said, a slight smile on his aging face as he subconsciously adjusted to his old professor voice as he taught the boy further in the mysteries of magic. "The crystal balls of today are cheap knockoffs. Much knowledge and history has been lost on the origins and uses of crystal balls. Modern Seers and Prophets developed their arts from only a small set of rumors that have endured about crystal balls over the centuries. For instance, crystal balls were said to contain a vast trove of secret or forbidden knowledge that only the properly trained could access. The knowledge was so vast that these users had to spend hours in secluded meditation just to navigate it and find what they desired to learn."

"Hence the practice of gazing into a crystal ball's depths," Harry uttered quietly to himself as realization dawned on him.

"Exactly," Remus agreed. "As you can imagine, something happened about fifteen to eighteen centuries ago that had many of the crystal balls be hunted down and destroyed. Very few still exist today, and no one knows how to access them anymore."

"Is that why it's encased in gold?" Harry asked, as he tentatively started examining the cube again. "I can sense…something from the crystal ball, but the gold seems to be blocking me somehow."

"You can sense… It's Sorcery?" Remus asked, both startled and, once it had time to sink in, understanding. Then realization suddenly dawned on him. "Of _course_, that was when Sorcerers had started being actively hunted down and killed! No wonder no Wizard or Witch could enter a crystal ball, they don't have Sorcery!"

"Remus, why's it wrapped up in gold?" Harry answered, somewhat impatiently. His yearning to 'enter' the crystal ball and explore its untapped knowledge growing. '_I wonder if this is how Hermione feels all the time_.'

"Gold is a magical insulator," the man said, gazing down at Harry sternly. "That is one of the reasons that Witches and Wizards can't and don't perform magic on it, because we _can't_. Gold is immune to all…_known_ forms of magic."

"So whoever's this crystal ball belonged to probably was trying to protect their secrets," Harry said in understanding.

Remus could only shrug in agreement. "Come, Harry, we really should be moving on. I'm sure the Order is very concerned for your well-being at this point."

Sighing as he stuffed the crystal ball back into his pocket, Harry turned and looked up at the man again. "Can we make one more stop first, please? I made a promise and I want to show that I'm following through on it. This one is important to not only me, but someone else."

Sighing himself, Remus nodded in acceptance. "Where are we going?"

"Warwickshire."

* * *

><p><strong>Warwickshire, England<strong>

Dudley could say with absolute certainty that this was the most aggravating time of his life. Following his parents' sudden and unexpected comatose states, the civil services had had no choice but to transfer him over to his Aunt Marge's care until he was sufficiently old enough to care himself and get a job. He found after some digging that he needed to be at least sixteen to enroll in a military academy, which meant that he'd have to wait until next year to even consider trying to get accepted. And Aunt Marge and her many bulldogs, he found, were highly unpleasant to live with for a substantial length of time.

The woman seemed unable to decide how to treat him. Either she'd bark and snap at him for doing something wrong that she never bothered to explain why it was wrong in the first place, merely ordering him to obey her like he was one of her dogs. Or she'd try to coddle him like he was still a five-year-old child and had the mentality of one, which was both embarrassing and infuriating to him. Aunt Marge had always been a favorite of his and he'd always enjoyed her few visits because she so rarely came down to Surrey. But now he could see that it was only because he'd never had to a chance to see the 'real her'. Dudley had quickly found his childhood love of his only living Aunt deteriorating into a teenaged repulsion as she constantly pestered him to obey her house rules and tried to dominate his life.

Never before had Dudley ever considered his school to be a haven of freedom, but that's what it had quickly become. His classmates were all friendly, but didn't immediately throw themselves at him to be his friends. They treated him with a type of reserved observance. It wasn't until a week had gone by at his new school that he'd learned they'd heard a rumor of his parents and were treating him like he was a potentially dangerous homicidal delinquent. That realization had hurt him, _deeply_, and it still stained his relationship with them. He became recluse who grew increasingly obsessive in his studies of mathematics, science, and computers. Once done with his schoolwork, he'd head over to the local gym and start his bodybuilding training. The bodybuilding process was very slow and painful going for a boy who had never been physically active his entire life previously. Nonetheless, he had still made a fair deal of progress in the two months he'd been enduring it and he was finding himself rather enjoying the physical exhaustions now that he was slowly becoming accustomed to it.

And that was where Dudley was preparing to head to now. It was Sunday, all his schoolwork was finished, and Aunt Marge was thankfully sleeping in this morning. Since he'd given Marge's many bulldogs their morning meal in the exact specified quantities and food types as his aunt constantly harped on him to, he could now easily slip away without her being able to lecture him about slacking off his chores.

"Now I know why she always smelled like a dog," a voice said from behind Dudley as he was tying his shoes. Spinning around, Dudley blinked in surprise as he saw his cousin and an unfamiliar man standing behind at the screen door to outside.

"Harry?!" Dudley said, surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"

For some reason, that question caused the boy to both smile and wince. "That's the second time someone has asked that. I'll explain everything. Can we come in?"

Hesitating for only a moment, Dudley quickly waved the newcomers inside. Entering the sitting room, Dudley was surprised when Harry pulled him into a brief hug which he awkwardly returned. But after only a moment, they pulled away and Dudley turned towards the stranger. "Who are you, sir?"

"Oh, where are my manners?" the man chided himself. "I am Remus Lupin, a former professor of Harry's and a long-time friend of his parents."

"H-Hello," Dudley said, hesitantly. Though he'd stated that he wanted to help Harry kill that Dark Lord, he still wasn't quite over his instilled fear of all things magical. And while the man's appearance was quite ordinary and friendly-looking, if a bit haggard, he knew that appearances were extremely deceptive, especially in the magical world. "I'm Dudley Dursley."

"Dursley?" the man said in obvious surprise, glancing down at Harry questioningly. But Harry just shrugged as he met his glance briefly. Turning back to him, Mr. Lupin said, "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dursley. And I'm very sorry about your loss."

"I-It's okay," Dudley partially lied. He wasn't over their deaths, but he was having an easier time dealing with it now. Not much, but enough to get by. But his anger towards those who'd done it and allowed it to happen burned as brightly as ever.

"That's actually why I wanted to come see you," Harry said, reaching into one of his pockets. "I've got some good news, bad news, and some really bad news for you, Dudley. Which do you want first?"

Blinking, Dudley just shrugged. "How about all of it?"

Chuckling slightly, Harry pulled what looked like a pistol out of his pocket. How he managed to fit it there, Dudley tried not to think about as he was handed the device. Taking it, he looked it over very carefully, noticing several obvious differences to the standard appearance of a normal firearm pistol. The most noticeable of these changes was the large clip that was attached to the underside of the pistol, just ahead of the trigger. Sliding back the top of the pistol, Dudley saw not the internal workings of a gunpowder magazine firing chamber, but what looked like a faintly glowing crystal and a churning blue liquid he couldn't recognize encased in a transparent filtering tube that led up into the barrel, just in front of the crystal.

Sliding the top back into place, Dudley looked up at his grinning cousin as he suddenly realized what he was holding. "Is this what I think it is?"

Humming in acknowledgement as he nodded, Harry said, "It's still largely a prototype, but it works just fine. And you've enough plasma for at least twenty shots before reloading. I've also made a few other goodies, but those can wait for later."

Despite himself, an eager grin crossed Dudley's face at the thought of yet more surprises his cousin may yet have in store. Forcing himself to concentrate and not be distracted by the blaster in his hand, Dudley set it aside. "Okay, if that's the good news, what's the bad and really bad?"

"I've learned a new type of…magic," Harry said, whispering 'magic' as he glanced over his shoulder towards where Dudley knew Aunt Marge was sleeping. Looking back at him, Harry's face was a strange twist of weariness and excitement. "I've learned something called Sorcery. But, in simple terms, I suppose you could say I've learned how to use the Force of Star Wars."

"What?!" Dudley couldn't help yelping. "Really?! _Show me!_"

Harry shrugged lightly as he gazed around the room, lifting one hand slightly. Under Dudley's wide eyes, various pieces of furniture and knickknacks of the sitting room began rising up and floating in the air for a moment. As they settled back down, Harry's gaze turned back to him and there was a hint of something different in them. "Unfortunately, this type of magic is apparently outlawed and _highly_ illegal in the Wizarding World."

"What?!" Dudley couldn't help asking. "Why?"

"A few of its previous users over the ages turned into Sith Lords and tried to devastate or control the world," Harry said, his eyes narrowing in anger at the thought.

"Seriously?" he asked, a deadpan stare in his eyes and his voice flat. Harry just nodded in acknowledgement.

"Wait, if it's illegal, and you're here…"

"Yup," Harry nodded, admitting to his cousin's revelation. "They found out and weren't too happy with me."

"What happened?"

"The bigot of a Minister tried to arrest me and have me throw in prison without a trial," Harry admitted, a twitch of his lips hinting at something in his memory. "I made a point of embarrassing him before I had to run. But I'm now expelled from Hogwarts and a wanted fugitive in the Wizarding World."

"That…sucks," Dudley said, unable to find any other words to properly enunciate himself. It was hard to imagine, being on the run from the entire country he was born and raised in.

"But before I left, I…" Harry trailed off, a look of uncertainty on his face. But as he looked up again at Dudley, that uncertainty soon faded away to resignation. "I found out who sent the Dementors after me this summer. Who was responsible for…their conditions."

Perking up instantly as his gaze narrowed, Dudley all but growled out, "Who?"

"Dolores Jane Umbridge," Harry said. "Last I heard, she was the right hand man of the Minister of Magic, the 'High Inquisitor' of Hogwarts, and one of the new professors at the school. She was basically the Minister's spy in Hogwarts. But she sent the Dementors to try and shut me up from speaking against the Ministry about Voldemort's return…or maybe to help the Dark Lord by removing me."

"She definitely is the type to underhanded tactics to backstab her opponents," Mr. Lupin agreed quietly from beside Harry.

Mulling over this information for a moment, Dudley finally nodded. "Thank you for telling me, Harry."

"How have you been?" Harry asked suddenly, no doubt trying to break the tension that had formed upon these many unhappy revelations. "Having a good time Aunt Marge? Did you ever manage to get into that academy you wanted?"

"No," Dudley answered, his mood quickly souring. "Things have been terrible lately."

"Why?"

"_Uuuughhh, my head!_" a loud voice whined from the master bedroom, causing several of the dogs in the room to awaken and begin barking at one another. There was even a couple of thumping noises that sounded suspiciously like bottles hitting the wooden carpeted floor. "Ugh, shut that racket, you mangy mongrels! Dudley, where's my tea?"

"That's why," Dudley said simply, frowning as he glared at Marge's room. He had hoped to be long gone by this time so he didn't have to deal with his hung-over aunt.

As he was moving to stand up, a faint scratching at one of the windows drew the trio's attention. Though it took a moment, Dudley was able to recognize the fluttering form outside as Harry's snow owl pet that he had often had to keep locked up in a cage in years' past.

"Hedwig?" Harry asked, sounding and looking quite concerned as he quickly moved over to the window and opened it, letting the owl inside. The owl landed upon his offered arm, flapping her wings in obvious agitation. "What is it, girl?"

"Something's wrong," the man, _Mr. Lupin_ Dudley had to remind himself, said, his nose visibly twitching as he took deep but quick sniffs of the air. "Something—no, _someone_ is approaching. They smell like blood, steel, and…_death_."

"How do you know that?" Dudley asked wearily, grabbing his new blaster pistol and holding it ready.

"I'm a werewolf," Mr. Lupin said.

"_He's here!_" Harry hissed suddenly, before Dudley had a chance to really react to what Mr. Lupin had revealed. He was glaring out of the opened window. Turning back to the others, he said, "It's time to leave!"

"Agreed," Remus said, quickly standing up and following the boy as they hurriedly rushed for the door.

"What's going on?" Dudley asked, following them out the door, not wanting to be left out.

"Dudley!" Marge called out once again, but Dudley ignored her as he followed the pair outside.

What he saw when he exited the house was a tall, cloaked being striding towards the house from down the country lane that Aunt Marge lived on. The cloaked figure's clothes were obviously frayed, threadbare, and were in serious need of replacement from the number of holes and slashes that were in them. Though the man's cloak hid most of his figure and clothes from view, it was clear that he wore high boots with his pants stuffed inside them, a dark leather belt holding them up, and loose dark shirt. It was also obvious to Dudley that the man wore a set of chainmail under his shirt, as the clinking of steel and the small flashes of metal between the cuts and holes of the clothes made abundantly clear. But the most interesting detail that stood out to Dudley was the large broadsword that was strapped to the man's waist, which one of his hands was resting upon.

"Who are you?" Harry called out, an edge of warning in his voice that Dudley hadn't heard before.

At first the man didn't reply or move, just stared at the three of them for a moment. Then, just as Dudley's patience was starting to wane, the man's free hand moved to his waist pocket and extracted something that sparkled in his palm. Dudley couldn't see what it was, but it was clear that once he held up in front of his shadowed face, that he started gazing quite pointedly at Harry. Harry quickly noticed this, hands sliding to his belt where his lightsaber and wand were both strapped.

"So, it is you," a hoarse voice with a harsh accent of some kind uttered from the depths of that black hood. "The Awakened one."

That simple statement caused Harry to flinch in surprise for some reason that Dudley didn't understand.

"Who are you?!" Mr. Lupin demanded, stepping ahead of Harry and assuming a much more threatening posture, as though he was preparing to leap for the man. "Answer me now!"

"You won't get a second chance!" Dudley called out, stepping to the side as he kept his blaster leveled on the stranger.

"You two are unneeded," the stranger stated in a cold, almost robotic voice. Lifting his arm off his sword, the man quickly whipped out a short black wand that he used in one efficient sweeping gesture as he grunted out, "_Be gone!_"

An unseen force slammed into Dudley and Remus, knocking them tumbling to the side a considerable distance. Though Mr. Lupin was fast to bounce back to his feet, Dudley was a bit less coordinated and took a few seconds longer to recover. And by the time he did crawl back to his feet, he couldn't help yelping in surprise at the monstrous creature that now stood only a few short meters away from him. The werewolf spared him barely a glance before lunging forward on all fours towards their attacker, snarling the whole way.

Much to Dudley's later shame, he kept his eyes on the monster form of Mr. Lupin as it sprinted across the gap between them and the stranger. It wasn't until he actually saw the strange once again easily throw the werewolf aside, continuing his quiet conversation with Harry as though they were alone, that Dudley finally remembered what was happening. Tearing his gaze away from the monster, he hefted up his blaster and took aim. But even as he pulled the trigger, it was too late to stop what was going to happen. He watched it all happen in seeming slow motion.

Whatever the man had been saying, Harry had fervently denied or declined. The man then wasted no time in jabbing his wand forward, unleashing a large barrage of spells that Dudley couldn't recognize, even though he'd been reading and studying Harry's old schoolbooks like a religious zealot. Though Harry was able draw his own wand and cast a hurried shield charm, it only deflected the spells in his immediate vicinity. The other spells shot right past him and slammed into Aunt Marge's rather modest home. Whatever those spells were, they blasted right through the feeble wood and mortar of the house, destroying and incinerating everything they came into contact with as they shot through the structure. Thankfully for Dudley's later peace of mind, he never heard the short cry of surprise or agony that momentarily filled the house, or saw his dear unloved aunt and several of her many dogs become reduced to little more than a large blood stains on the walls and floor.

It was as the barrage was exiting the back of the house that Dudley's shot finally reached the man, slamming into his armored shoulder, throwing him haphazardly to the side, which time _finally_ accelerated back up to its normal flow. The plasma bolt sheered right through the chainmail and punched into the compact muscle and tender flesh beneath, causing the man to reflexively cry out in pain. The blow was so powerful and unexpected that the man was thrown into a slight turn as his feet were knocked askew, disrupting his otherwise perfect balance. Harry capitalized on the distraction by shooting a series of ropes from his wand, rapidly binding the man's limbs tightly together. Seeing the obvious opening, the monstrous Mr. Lupin leapt into the air with his clawed arms swept back for a pair of lethal slashes.

However, just before the werewolf could land its hit, the man vanished in a strange twisting motion. Mr. Lupin landed roughly upon where the man had been standing, claws digging deeply into the dense gravel road, head twisting and turning rapidly as its nose flared with powerful sniffs of the air, searching.

"Don't worry, Remus," Harry called out, drawing Dudley and the monster's attentions. "He's long gone. I can faintly feel him now, about ten kilometers north and moving farther away. He's not coming back…not yet at least."

Then, before Dudley's gawking gaze, the monster seemed to shrink in on itself as it reformed into the man it had once been. Once he was sufficiently human enough to ask, Mr. Lupin said, "What did he want? What was he saying? I only caught slight phrases."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "He said I had a choice to serve his master or die. I tried to ask who his master was, if he was Voldemort, but he just demanded an answer. I said 'no' and he attacked."

Mr. Lupin nodded, apparently that was also much of what he'd also pieced together from what he'd heard. Then the man looked over at Dudley and shot him a small smile and a nod. "Good shot, Mr. Dursley! You may have saved our lives today."

"But I…I didn't do anything," Dudley said, feeling incomprehensibly small and weak as he stared at the powerful forms of his cousin and the shapeshifting monster of a man before him. "It was just a lucky shot."

"There's no such thing as 'luck,' Dudley," Harry said, also smiling at him encouragingly. "If you hadn't distracted him with that shot, I wouldn't have been able to bind him and Remus wouldn't have gotten him to flee. You did save our lives today."

A faint feeling of warmth filled Dudley at their praises. He had never been in a real life-or-death fight before, so he hadn't known how to act or behave. He just went along with the flow, acting when he could, doing what he could. They were doing the exact same, but more and better than he had. Why were they praising him? But nonetheless, it felt…nice. Glancing over at his cousin, he found Harry staring at him with a knowing gleam in his eyes and small smile on his face. Harry knew exactly what was going through Dudley's head at that time, for it had often gone through his own since he'd arrived at Hogwarts and been put in dangerous situations.

* * *

><p><strong>#12 Grimmauld Place, London<strong>

If Harry's first time arriving at Grimmauld Place left him with an impression of foreboding darkness, decay, and death, the second time guaranteed it. Dark Magic was so tightly bound up in the house that it almost seemed to have a physical presence to Harry's enhanced senses. It was cold, highly threatening, and menacing, even Harry's Gryffindor courage momentarily failed him when they arrived and he got his first true feel of it. Thankfully for his peace of mind, neither of his companions noticed his duress.

Remus had teleported them from the ruins of Aunt Marge's home to an alley next to the street outside Grimmauld Place. As his first exposure to the highly unpleasant sensation, Dudley was not taking it well at all. He'd fallen to his knees and was in the process of dry heaving his empty stomach. Fortunately for Dudley, Remus and Harry had arrived early enough in the morning that they'd caught him before he could eat breakfast. Otherwise, there most assuredly have been a giant puddle of partially eaten food under the poor boy by this time.

"Don't worry, Mr. Dursley," Remus was saying as he was casting minor healing charms on him to help ease his pain and nausea. "That's a common reaction for most first-timers. You'll get used to it in time."

"Ugh…There's gonna be…a 'next time'?!" Dudley groaned out, already looking pale at the thought of a repeat performance. "Can't we just…take a bus or…something?"

"Maybe…" Remus acquiesced consolingly. "But Apparation is much faster."

"Where are we going?" Dudley asked as he pushed himself to his feet, looking around the street curiously.

"See that sign there?" Remus asked, pointing out the missing '12'. "We're going to Number 12 Grimmauld Place, childhood home of one of our friends."

"Okay, but where's—HEY! Where'd that place come from?!" Dudley gasped, suddenly seeing the additional house that hadn't been there seconds ago.

"We'll explain later," Harry said, finally overcoming his initial fear of the darkness and mustering up his courage once again. "Just be patient, Dudley. There's going to be a lot of awkward questions and unpleasant people inside who won't be happy to see us, _either_ of us."

Thankfully, the house was mostly empty at this point. That was because most of the Order members were either at work or at their individual homes still sleeping or preparing for the day. Harry could sense only four people inside; Sirius, Buckbeak, Kreacher, and Dumbledore. '_What is Dumbledore doing here?_' Harry wondered to himself. '_Shouldn't he be at Hogwarts?—Oh no…_'

"Hey, _Sirius!_" Harry called out once they were fully inside. "We're here with _big_ news!"

"_**HARRY?!**_" Sirius cried out from the second floor, followed by a cracking sound as he literally teleported to the entrance and scooped up the nearest boy in his arms tightly. "_You're finally here! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!_ What's this I hear of you being a _Sorcerer?!_ Don't you know how _dangerous_ such magic is?! Congratulations on becoming a _convict_, now we can go on the run _together!_"

"Eh, Sirius?" Harry asked from his position next to him, finally managing to break into his godfather's fast-paced ranting and questions. "I'm over _here_. That's my _cousin_ you're squeezing to death."

Slacking off his tight embrace as his looked over towards where the voice had come from, Sirius saw that Harry was indeed off to the side. Looking down into his arms, he saw a boy he didn't immediately recognize and quickly released him as he bounced back a step or two. He made a feeble attempt at ignoring Remus's muted chuckling as he quickly brushed off imaginary dust from the new boy's shoulders. "Sorry about that, lad. Just grabbed the first boy I saw."

"N-N-No worries," Dudley managed to stutter out, staring up at the strange-looking and admittedly scary appearance that Sirius still wore after all his years in Azkaban. "I'm Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin. N-Nice to meet you, sir."

Nodding almost benevolently to the newly-introduced Dudley, Sirius suddenly turned and swept up Harry into an exact mirror image crushing embrace as the one that'd held Dudley seconds earlier. This time without the shouting, Sirius pulled back and glared demandingly at his godson, "Now, _talk_, Harry. _Where_ have you _been_ this past week? You've had the Ministry _and_ the Order up in arms for _days_ because no one's been able to _find_ you!"

"I'll tell you everything in a little bit," Harry promised, nodding his head. "But there's something else I'd like to do first. I need to speak with Kreacher."

"Why him?" Sirius asked, his voice taking on a noticeable tone of disgust.

"I think he _might_ have something of Voldemort's that he's been hiding here from us," Harry said honestly, knowing that would garner an immediate response from his godfather.

"_**KREACHER!**_" Sirius yelled instantly as he spun around.

"Yes, what do you want, Master?" Kreacher asked as he appeared ver

y shortly afterwards. A quick glance around and he saw the newest visitors. "The mangy werewolf, unworthy Halfblood, and a new filth have entered my Mistress's home again? How much longer will this—"

"Kreacher!" Sirius interrupted loudly and sternly. "What's this I hear about you hiding something of _Voldemort's_ in my house?!"

Kreacher visibly flinched back in surprise as he stared up at his hated master with wide eyes. "Kreacher knows nothing about any such thing." In a much quieter, but still audible voice, he said to himself, "How does Master know about Master's locket? It's impossible!"

"Bring me this _locket_, this _instant!_" Sirius barked angrily as he glared down at the house-elf. A few moments later, Kreacher reappeared tentatively holding a large locket with a stylized 'S' on it and held it out quite unwillingly to his master.

"This is it?" Sirius demanded, glaring down at Kreacher as he held the locket out for verification. "This is the real one? Not some fake that you grabbed to fool us with?"

"It's the real one, Sirius," Harry answered for the house-elf, his eyes glued to the golden locket. "I can…I can feel something dark, twisted, and disgusting coming from it. But it's weird, like…it's trying to hide its presence within itself."

"How you know so much about Master Regulus's locket?" Kreacher asked, glaring up at Harry in confusion and curiosity. "Kreacher told no one about the locket."

"What does my brother have to do with this?" Sirius demanded, interrupting Harry from answering the house-elf. Then he seemed to second guess himself, "Never mind, he was a Death Eater scum. That's all I need to know about the how and why. What is it doing _here_, though?!"

"Perhaps it would be better if we relocated to a more comfortable setting than just standing in the hallway, Sirius?" a familiar old voice spoke up from down the hall where the kitchen was. "Might I suggest the kitchen and thus our visitors might explain while we have breakfast?"

"Breakfast sounds good," Dudley said in a quiet voice, voting wholly in favor of Dumbledore's opinion. "Just no weird food, please?"

"Some eggs, potatoes, and bacon does sound nice," Harry agreed, while also trying to reassure his cousin of the familiar types of food they had.

"…Fine," Sirius grunted out, quite obviously very unhappy at having to postpone his interrogation of his apparent treacherous house-elf.

The next hour and a half was quite possibly the longest breakfast that any of them had ever had. It was filled with lengthy discussions and seemingly endless questions. The first topic brought up was quite obviously where Harry had been and what he had been doing. Both Dumbledore and Sirius had been nearly struck dumb to learn that Harry had come into contact with one of the Werewolf Packs and cleansed them of their Curse, changing it into something stronger and much more controllable. At first neither of them truly believed that what he had done was actually possible…until Remus unexpected transformed right at the dinner table.

Suffice to say, the Marauder in Moony was no doubt laughing his ass off at the admittedly comical scene he must've put on: a monstrous beast seated upon a chair at a table, eating his breakfast like a dainty aristocratic woman of the eighteenth century. Granted, he had been nearly cursed by both Wizards if not for Harry reacting quickly, using his Sorcery to keep them immobilized in their seats until they calmed down enough to realize that Remus's human conscience was still in control.

Once they'd recovered, Dumbledore was visibly the most torn between the revolutionary actions Harry had taken. Simply put, the old man was so ingrained in his ways that, despite him always preaching for change and equality, he was hesitant and even quite fearful of just what the Werewolves would do with their newfound powers of control. They could now easily break away from the Wizarding World altogether, incite panic and wars, and even begin trying to spread their newfound 'gift' to far more people now. But just the same, the biggest contributing factor that had caused so many Werewolves to be driven into the depths of Darkness was the simple fact that the Ministry of Magic actively took measures in sabotaging any chance of them living semi-normal lives in either society. What the Werewolves now faced was perhaps the greatest gift that any man could be given: the power of choice. And the choices they now made would no doubt actively shape their destinies forever after…and all he or anyone else could do was _wait_.

After that revelation was made and he returned to his human form, Remus revealed that was how he'd found Harry and, after having cleansed most of the British Werewolves, how they'd decided to visit Godric's Hollow and Harry's parents' graves. Though they touched briefly on Harry's discovery of a magical artifact, they quickly pressed on to their visit of Dudley in Warwickshire and the following attack by a mysterious cloaked figure. This mysterious occurrence had all of Dumbledore, Sirius, and Remus assuming that the attacker was probably an agent of Voldemort's, perhaps a mercenary Sorcerer hunter sent to find and kill Harry. However, both Harry and Dudley were skeptical of that opinion. Dudley firmly believed that the man's accent was too foreign to have come from anywhere in Europe. And it was Harry's instinct that he was trusting. Something about the attacker (be it his accent or mannerisms) just didn't seem in line with Voldemort's style or the type of mercenary he'd hire. But in the end, they couldn't do anything about the man until he revealed himself once again.

After that, the conversation was finally brought back to the locket and Kreacher was made to tell his tale. Sirius quite clearly had the hardest time believing anything that Kreacher said as being anything remotely close to being truthful. But Harry could sense Kreacher's honesty and repeatedly assured his godfather that it was the truth. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Kreacher's tale from being quite fantastic and strange. Kreacher being loaned to Voldemort as he hid something in a cursed cave. Sirius's brother Regulus deciding that he wanted whatever it was that Voldemort had hidden, and yet sacrificing himself to allow Kreacher to escape. And the house-elf's lingering distraught over the emotional backlash that he had caused to his beloved family because of Regulus's final orders, as well as his inability to carry out the last and most important of orders by destroying the locket.

"Sirius?" Harry finally said once everything was said and done, Kreacher mournfully recovering on the floor from the many heartbreaking revelations he'd revealed. Once he gained his godfather's attention, Harry held up his lightsaber. "Let me destroy it."

"Go ahead," Sirius said, tossing the cursed jewelry across the table, where it came to a skidding halt in front of Harry.

"Harry, what _is_ that device?" Dumbledore asked upon the hilt of the device that he'd seen Harry wield in front of the whole school. It was a strange, deceptively powerful, and quite versatile weapon, Dumbledore would've been lying if he said that he wasn't the least be interested in it.

"Later, sir," Harry said, igniting the blue blade as he glared down at the locket.

Angling the weapon's tip, he jabbed it powerfully down on it. Impossibly, the locket wasn't destroyed or damaged immediately. Instead, a green aura seemed to burst to life around the locket, protecting it from the deadly blade just as it was about to make contact. Grunting as he applied much more strength to his stab, Harry heaved down against the green barrier. Green, blue, and white sparks began bursting to life between the immoveable object and the unstoppable force. After several long moments of no progress, Harry finally pulled back to examine the green barrier much more closely.

Reaching out with his hand and closing his eyes, Harry delved deeply into his connection with the ambient magics that saturated the house and surroundings. He watched closely as the magic of the Dark Spirit that was inside the locket swiftly retreated back inside the safety of its otherwise impenetrable casing. That was when he sensed the charms cast upon the locket's exterior. Okay, if the shell was strong, maybe the inside was weak. And since this was Voldemort's handiwork he was dealing with…

"_Open!_" Harry hissed in Parseltongue.

Almost anticlimactically, the locket popped open. Then a massive green cloud erupted from it, the force of it blowing all but Harry back into the walls. Harry was fortunate because he'd unknowingly held his lightsaber in a semi-protective posture across his chest, which in turn acted as a type of shield against the outrush of power that he'd unleashed. In that green and black cloud, Harry could see only vague bodies and faces taking shape, voices yelling in muted shouts of accusation and rage. From the others, Harry sensed rising levels of fear, depression, powerlessness, and hopelessness. Looking over at them, he saw they were all staring into the churning cloud with grief stricken expressions at whatever they were seeing or experiencing.

'_My lightsaber must be shielding me_,' he realized. Then, seeing and sensing that they were all starting to succumb to the illusions and accusations, he hefted up his saber again. With one simple stab, he was killed the Dark Spirit that had claimed the locket as a home. In the time it took him to sheathe his lightsaber, the mass of evil floating above the table had vanished for all eternity.

Looking at the others around the table, Harry found them in varying states of distress. He could already tell that this was going to be a long day, especially when Dumbledore turned _that gaze_ over upon him. Whatever the old man knew or suspected, Harry could already tell he wasn't going to like it.

* * *

><p>(<strong>Author's Note<strong>) Quite an eventful chapter, much more so than I originally thought it'd be. What do you guys think? Am I speeding the storyline along too quickly or do you enjoy the nonstop action and revelations that have been happening recently?

I wonder how many people can guess just what inspired a certain key scene in this particular chapter.


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